


Never Be Enough

by NamelessShe



Series: Not Enough AU [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dark, F/M, Fluff, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-06-02 02:14:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 58
Words: 164,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6546346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelessShe/pseuds/NamelessShe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate scenes and things for It Is Not Enough</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Gift from the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Future Solas sends his memories to past Solas to show him what he will become.  
> Prompted by Willowsle.
> 
> Sort of an alternate path to what takes place before the events in It is Not Enough.

He thinks it's just a cold, at first, but in truth, it is something far worse. It has been a thousand lifetimes since he has seen this magic.

Ellana is none the wiser. She sends him to bed with promises of hot soup and herbal remedies that will prove useless. The spell must run it's course. In a matter of hours---or days depending---he will be fine.

He has little warning before the fever strikes. He shuts the door to her quarters and then he is half out of his mind with it. The short climb up the stairs is torturous. His head is screaming at him. Voices. Faces. Memories not his own. Memories he hasn't created, yet.

And that is the nature of this magic. It is a call from across time, a warning. 

People are dying all around him. The battle rages, Inquisition against Elvhen forces---other ancients fighting under his banner. So many. Too many.

And the sky is burning. It burns and the Veil falls and the soldiers die.

Ellana is still there, at the end, standing against him. Bruised and battered, her arm gone, the anchor gone, she is physically broken but still so beautiful. She still thinks the tides can be turned and he can be saved.

She loves him. Even now. Even then.

She is the only light left in the world. And suddenly, there is too much hurt on her face when she looks at him. 

She is still so strong.

_What have you done?_

He waits, holds his breath, but Elvhenan is not returning. There is no ripple of time magic. The devastation is not swept away. It is not replaced by the days long passed. His spell fails. He hears her voice.

_How could you?_

There is only smoke and blood.

_I loved you. Wasn't that enough?_

The humans, the dwarves, the qunari---they die from the shock of it. When the magic touches them, it is too much and there is no one powerful enough to shield them. The overload kills them. Their eyes roll back, and they seize. 

Only the People survive and some of Ellana's elves, but too few. Far too few. 

He is not strong enough to save them. He is not strong enough to avert this disaster. 

Dorian falls and Cole splinters and that is when something breaks inside of her. 

_Not Dorian. Not Cole_

_Your fault_

_Why_

She is screaming. The world is dying and she is screaming at him, fighting him, begging him.

It was all for nothing.

 _Save them. Please, Fen'Harel, save him._ And it sounds wrong coming from her. He was always Solas. Just for her. If she only knew---but she doesn't see him. He is standing right in front of her and she can't. He has lost her.

Dorian's blood is on her hands and her face and Cole sits beside him, daggers useless in his hands. He stares and his eyes are black, so black. 

_We couldn't save them._ Compassion is gone. Not just Cole. He can sense them all. Each spirit breaking under the weight of this madness. There is too much pain and too much hurt and nothing they can do but listen.

What has he done?

He sees the memories rush and he sees what else he will do. He sees what he becomes and he is going to be sick. The war will end and the survivors will continue on fighting. There are not enough of them left but they will destroy each other.

Ellana is little more than a prisoner, his obsession. She escapes every day through a wine bottle. Every gift he gives, every plea he makes tears a piece of her. She is splintering like Cole but much slower. He did this to her.

He takes so much power.

He is a monster.

Evanuris. 

He is one of them, fully. And at that, he can hear an echo of laughter. It is the shade of Falon'Din, his voice, his blighted magic. _Monster Harellan Murderer_ And it is that _thing_ that revels in her pain, that feeds off it. Enjoys it.

He is going to be sick. 

When the vision finally breaks, he is weak and shaking and she is sitting beside him, her face a mask of worry. She clutches the wet cloth she was using to cool his brow, her knuckles white from the tension. But all he can see is how she will look at him some day. 

She will hate him. They will be together but it won't be enough.

He doesn't know how to fix this.

"You're very ill, Solas, try not to move," she says, "Do you know who I am? Do you know where you are?"

His throat is dry and his lips cracked, but he manages a nod. She helps him sit and then holds a cup of water to his lips. Just a sip. Just until he can handle more. His throat is raw. He has been screaming, she tells him.

"I will be fine now," he says as she sets the cup on the night stand. No, he won't. He will never be fine again. He will hurt her. He will hurt all of them and all for nothing. 

He can not save his People. He can not prevent Mythal's death. He will be the monster he hates, the horror the Dalish believe him to be. He will make it true. 

She eyes him critically because she has always been so dangerously perceptive. But not perceptive enough because she loves him now. She should not. Oh, she should run from him. She should slit his throat while he sleeps. Poison him.

"I was so worried," she says, "You were delirious for days. Your fever burned so hot. I thought for sure we would lose you."

He wishes she had let him die.

She cups his face between her palms and kisses his nose. He would give anything to keep her like this forever, to change the future. He can not fail and lose her as well. It is too much.

It is too much.

He will die alone.

She crawls into bed and wraps her arms around him. He should push her away because it is the right thing to do, but he can not. He shifts, ignores the way his head throbs and pulses, and pulls her against him.

He is probably holding her to tightly but he is afraid to let go.


	2. Maybe It Could Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if Solas doesn't break everything? What if he heeds the vision he receives and finds another way to bring down the Veil?

This time, when the Veil falls, it isn't all at once. It is a slow break. Instead of minutes, it takes days. There are survivors. Not enough but still so many.

It is better than it could have been. He can still see the images from the vision. He can see the fire, he can see the bodies of the Inquisition soldiers. Her friends. All of them lost. But not this time.

It is is one small thing he gets right. It is one small miracle for her.

Cole does not break. Dorian does not die. They leave the battlefield, injured, but alive. Angry but alive. Their wounds will heal. And so will their spirits.

The world is not a dead thing. The air does not reek of carrion and smoke. The dead do not outnumber the living. 

Ellana leaves before he can tell her, before he can explain. She goes with Dorian and Cole and he is afraid to follow. He is afraid to ask if she---if they---if there is still a place for them, together.

He retreats to his lands. He protects his borders. He rebuilds what he can for those who remain. 

It will never be Arlathan, but it could be beautiful. It could be something he could be proud of, someday. Maybe. If this is forever, it isn't what he had hoped for. 

 

He doesn't expect her to come to him. And he does not expect her to come alone.

Abelas wakes him early, his expression uncertain, his frown grim. It alarms him, because it is the face that usually accompanies bad news. Even though magic has been restored and immortality returned to the elves, there are many who fear him, hate him, resent him. 

Orlais would like nothing more than to drive him away. Fereldan is not any more pleased to know he still draws breath. Antiva still sends their assassins--in embarrassing numbers. 

"She is here," Abelas says. 

And with those three words, he feels the world change. 

Ellana, he thinks, because there is no one else it could be.

"Are you certain?" he asks, but he already knows. He can feel her, sense her. He can hear the rumble of her thoughts, loud and chaotic and unrestrained. Her kin has never had a chance to learn, but now, maybe. They have a chance.

He is afraid.

And he can feel it. She is afraid too. And that gives him something like hope.

 

She is waiting in the main hall. She stares at the tapestries and the windows of delicate stained glass and her mouth is open in wonder. He never thought she would see any of it, that she would want to.

His breath catches and he can't move, can't think, can't do anything but watch her. He waits. And then she sees him.

"Solas," she says.

Not Fen'Harel but Solas. Not Harellan. Not murderer. Not monster. Just Solas.

His throat is tight and his mouth too dry. He can't speak.

She smiles.

And he is undone. 

She hurls herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him down. She kisses him like the world is ending again, like she still loves him. And maybe she does. He hadn't dared to hope. 

She can't possibly know what this means to him. 

He is shaking when she pulls away.

"You're here," he says, dumbly. He stares. He fumbles with his hands, unsure of where they're meant to be, what he should do. 

"Where else would I be?" she asks. How can she still smile at him like that? After all he has done.

He doesn't try to answer because he knows there are no words left. He kisses her instead, as he meant to do when the Veil fell, as he has wanted to do every day since then. 

Forever might be beautiful, after all.


	3. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are reunited after the war. Ellana's POV

He sends her a gift. That's how she knows he wants to see her again.

It is old magic. A small metal ring with Elvhen writing on it. It bears June's symbols and Ghilan'nain's and the instructions are clear. She slides it over the stump of her arm and expects nothing to come of it.

Magic can't regrow limbs, she thinks.

But it does.

Over the course of a few weeks, it grows and it hurts, but at the end, she is whole again. She can touch and feel and hold things in her hand. She can write. There is no more phantom pain waking her in the middle of the night.

She did not think magic like this could even exist.

The courier leaves more than just instructions. He gives her directions and a password, and tells her she can come through the eluvians if she comes alone. 

She misses him. She does. But she is conflicted. He almost destroyed the world. He threw her away. 

But he misses her too. He restored her arm. He loves her still.

She can't stay away. But she has to. She can't go to him. 

She lasts a month before she relents. She packs a small bag and makes her way through his network of eluvians. She endures the suspicious looks from his soldiers. She follows their instructions and their protocols, and when they are satisfied she means him no harm, they lead her to him.

 

She did not expect this. The look of shock on his face, the way he trembles when she holds him---it's as if he doesn't expect her to be there. He believes she'll disappear if he looks away.

After all this, why would should she? He is her heart.

He did not expect her to come. She suspects he didn't give his courier leave to invite her. Not really. And the look Abelas gives her when he first sees her makes her wonder if he's the one behind it all. He sent for her because Solas was too proud. Too afraid. But she doesn't mind. She's finally here and the war is over and Solas isn't running away.

She doesn't wait to steal him away. She shuts the door to his study, and when his eyes widen, when he gets that delicious shocked look again, she curls her fingers around the back of his neck and pulls him down to meet her.

She kisses him.

And kisses him.

And kisses him.

He tears his lips away. He wraps his arms around her instead and holds on. Again. It's like he thinks she's going to disappear. She doesn't like that. Not even a little.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

He breathes against her hair. 

"Ar lath ma," he says.

He tightens his hold and he won't say anything more about it. Just that. I love you. He calls her his heart. He lets her strip him out of his clothes and take him on his desk. 

He doesn't even flinch when she sends his stacks of papers fluttering to the ground.

His eyes are red and wet and he is still trembling. 

She is not going to break into pieces. She's not fragile. She's not dying. He should not be so afraid.

What is wrong with him?

"I'm not going to leave," she says, trying to pierce through whatever this is, get to the heart of things.

He slides his palms up her arms and down again. He kisses her lips, her neck, her shoulder. He sighs and shuts his eyes and just breathes. 

"Solas, please," she says.

But he won't tell her. 

He has nightmares. Terrible nightmares. Every night. She wakes every time he moves, and he does move. Often. He whimpers. He flinches. He calls out to her. He talks in slurred Elvhen and she can't understand most of it. 

She has never been a heavy sleeper. 

She shakes him when it gets to be too much---for him. His distress can not be restful. He has done terrible things but so has she and no one deserves whatever torture his mind is putting him through. 

When he wakes, sometimes he doesn't realize where he is. He sees her beside him and he apologizes again and again. Over and over. 

"All my fault," he says, "Forgive me. Please---"

And then the fog clears and he wraps around her. He stops talking. He won't tell her any more. 

"I'm the Dalish First who fell in love with the Dread Wolf. There's nothing you could tell me that would make me leave," she says, "I love you. Let me help you."

"I can't," he says, "Don't ask me again. I just---I can't"

And then he's the one pushing her down, taking her. He is too wound up---too much nervous energy. His touch is quick and a little too heavy but she doesn't want to stop him. He kisses her and his shoulders shake. His fingers tangle in her hair, catching on a knot. 

He buries himself inside her. Again. Barely pausing to catch his breath when they finish. He waits a minute before he starts again. He isn't fully recovered but he can't seem to stand the thought of not touching her. Only the feel of her around him brings him any semblance of peace.

Or he is just better at hiding his emotions. Or she is just too distracted then. She doesn't know and she won't complain. She has missed him. 

She still misses him, because he is not truly with her yet. He is caught in something. He is holding back.

She has fought so hard to find him, to be with him, and she knows he loves her. She can feel it in his touch. She can see it when he looks at her. She doesn't understand why he won't tell her what's wrong. 

"Give him time," Abelas tells her. She thinks he wants to say more but he doesn't---it is not his secret to tell. 

"But he isn't doing well. If you know something," she says.

He hesitates. He looks conflicted. But still. He won't tell her. 

"Ask him," he says.

"I have," she insists, "But he won't."

And he sighs. He finds reasons to avoid her because he knows she won't relent. She doesn't understand how he can know what's wrong, how he can look at Solas, and not do anything about it. 

She can't stand it. Feeling useless. Helpless. 

And Dorian is not really interested in offering suggestions. She talks to him through the crystal he gave her and he is still angry about his leg. It was broken in the last battle and it troubles him. Solas' fault, in part. The soldier who did it was his. If Solas hadn't intervened, he might have died.

"Just take something he likes and threaten to burn it," Dorian says, "And then burn it anyway. I don't want to talk about him."

"You're as bad as Abelas," she says.

And she is glad she can't see his face, because she can guess what it looks like. 

"That isn't very nice," he says.

She isn't feeling very nice. She is starting to think this is her fault. He doesn't trust her with the truth because there's something wrong with her. Maybe he doesn't love her at all and he's trying to find a way to tell her. Maybe Abelas sent for her by mistake---and she knows now. It was him. He brought her here.

Maybe she is making a fool of herself.

Again.

Maybe.

But Solas wouldn't make love to her the way he does if he didn't love her. He wouldn't touch her like that. He wouldn't kiss her like that.

But she can't stay with him if he won't talk to her. She feels like her heart is breaking again but she knows the truth when it comes to her. She can't live with another lie. It's not good for either of them. 

 

He breaks when she threatens to leave. 

"Please stay," he says. Desperation creeps into his voice. He grips her hands like he's fighting to keep his head above water, like he's holding on to his life line. Slipping.

"Tell me," she says.

He kisses her again. He always does when she pushes, when she asks. But it doesn't work this time because she has steeled herself against it. He won't tell her the truth. He won't even admit something's wrong. 

It's always just nothing. I love you, you're imagining things. I love you. Please.

She can't do this again.

He will hurt her and she won't bounce back. Too much has changed. She can't. She can't. She can't.

When she starts to pull away, his breath rushes out. He tells her.

Everything.

"I destroyed the world," he says, "The first time." He sounds mad. He sounds confused. But she believes him. Every word of it. She believes.

It is no wonder his dreams are nightmares.

"Thank you for telling me," she says.

"You should not forgive me," he says.

"There's nothing to forgive." He didn't destroy the world this time. Her people are alive and so are his. She is here, with him, and they are together. She cups his face between her palms and kisses the corners of his eyes. She holds him until he stops shaking and his breathing evens out. 

She's not going anywhere.


	4. Reunited: Vir Dirthara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas is working too hard again.  
> Smut set in the what if Solas doesn't destroy everything scenario.

It never fails to take her breath away. The new Vir Dirthara. She has never seen a library like this before. It is too big, too fine, too...perfect. She could happily spend forever wandering halls.

But Solas is hiding again.

She finds Abelas first. He waves her away, impatient as always.

"He is somewhere. I am not his keeper," he says. He unfolds another tattered scrap of paper and spreads it out on the table. The pile he has assembled is ridiculous. 

And Solas is being silly. She's going to find him and they are going to talk about this like rational adults. Void take him, there's no reason to work himself this much.

Some of the other patrons look up as she passes. She sees amusement and irritation. She sees curiosity and even the occasional hostile glare---not all of his people are pleased she has been given access to this place. And they can choke on it as far as she's concerned.

But mostly she sees indifference. 

Mostly, she does not see Solas and she is getting past the point that this is tolerable.

She double checks all his favorites. Ancient History. Ancient Ancient History. Ancient Ancient Ancient History. She isn't really sure because it's written in complicated ancient elvhen and she only understands bits and pieces. 

And she ends up wandering back to the modern sections. The places he puts the books she can actually read.

That is where she finds him. He is hiding in the Dalish section, sitting with his head bent over a thin volume of one of the new books. He is scowling. He definitely trying to hide, she thinks, because he knows she would never think to look for him here. No matter how much progress has been made, the Dalish is still a sore spot for him. 

She kisses the top of his head before he notices her. He jumps. He almost drops his book. He looks furious until he realizes it's her. As if many other people would sneak up behind him just to kiss his head. 

"I have been looking for you," she says. And it is hard not to smile when he looks at her like that.

"Yes, well," he says, the corner of his mouth twitches, almost a smile, "Might I suggest wearing a bell next time. You nearly killed me."

She kisses his cheek.

"No. I won't be doing that," she says, "What are you reading that has you frowning?"

"It's new," he says, "A book of fables for children, written by a Dalish Grey Warden. It is almost enjoyable."

"Almost?" she asks.

"I am still cast as the god of evil, it seems," he says, "If I had a copper for every time someone mentioned the Dread Wolf taking them..."

"Ah," she says, "Yes. I understand." She wishes the Dread Wolf would take her, but he is too busy micromanaging Abelas. 

He puffs out an irritated breath and closes the book. He gets up, puts it back on the shelf, and she is tugging him back towards her. She pulls him down. She kisses him properly.

"You're done for the day," she says.

His brow furrows and he starts to protest.

"No," she says, "Done."

He sighs. He tries to look annoyed and he fails. 

"I haven't finished," he says. The table is cluttered with books and papers but she doesn't care. He works too hard and too much and she is tired of not seeing him. She is tired of waking up after he's gone and falling asleep before he's home. She's tired of only catching glimpses of him. She's tired of him hiding like this.

She gives him a look. She holds it until he relents. 

"Vhenan," he says.

"No," she says.

"Vhenan."

"No, Solas," she says, "The work will still be here tomorrow. It won't go stale over night."

"I, on the other hand, just might," she continues. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. He shuts his eyes. And she sees. She has won this time. 

"I'm sorry, Ellana, of course," he says, "I have been preoccupied---"

"That's putting it mildly." He hasn't been preoccupied. He's been obsessed. Completely. And getting him to tell her about the latest project has been impossible. He changes the subject. He hides from her. He is up to something and that is never a good thing.

The last time he was like this, he nearly destroyed the world.

She'd be lying if she says she isn't a little worried.

And Abelas is no help and no fun at all. He is as loyal to Solas as anyone could get. He guards his secrets. She is starting to suspect whatever he's working on isn't a new branch of the library. It isn't a new research section. 

She kisses Solas again and this time he responds. He pulls her in. He slides a palm down her back and she thinks they are moving away from behavior that is appropriate for a library.

His other hand tugs her head back. He kisses her throat. He bites her ear. He breathes against her skin.

She shivers. She was supposed to be doing something. Something important...

She hears another sigh, but this one is different. It makes Solas go tense---he tears himself away and when she looks she sees Abelas. He wears his disapproval like a badge.

"As I understand it, you have a home," he says, "I suggest you reacquaint yourselves with it."

He starts to leave another stack of books on the table, pausing to give them both another Look. He takes three of the books out of the pile and tilts the covers away so she can't see the titles. She doesn't care but Solas looks embarrassed. He looks successfully chastised. 

"He is right," he says. 

"Of course, I am," Abelas says, still in earshot. She is tempted to throw something at him, but there is nothing here. She isn't going to throw books. 

Solas lets her lead him to the eluvian. He lets her lead him through and she is a little surprised. She expects more resistance. She expects a bit of a fight. 

Maybe this is a good sign. Maybe she can talk sense into him.

Maybe Cole is right.

Maybe.

She is still in the room with the eluvian when he pushes her against the wall. He catches her wrists. He gets them above her head and he is kissing her.

Well, she thinks. This is better than she expected.

He coaxes her lips to part. He makes a soft sound, his mouth still pressed to hers, his tongue sliding, teasing. She should break for a breath, but it feels too good. It has been too long.

She hooks a leg around his waist. She pulls him closer.

And then he breaks the kiss. He lets go of her wrists and he's lifting her, his hands gripping her ass, squeezing before he moves on. He kisses the soft of her throat, he makes her shudder. His teeth graze her collarbone. If he stops, she might kill him, she thinks. She knows. 

One hand gets between them. It works it's way under her shirt. Up.

Her breath catches. He finds her breast, his thumb circling the areola. He teases the nipple. 

He is going to take her right here, she realizes, right now. Where anyone could walk in and find them. She doesn't think it's something she would care for, but she feels a rush of heat. She feels the sweet ache and she thinks she's going to die if she has to wait much longer.

He is so very good at getting out of having this conversation, she thinks, and then she's tugging his shirt over his head. She's running her hands along the smooth expanse of his chest, the hard ridges of muscle.

His breath comes out a hiss and she loves the way he is looking at her. His pupils blown wide, his expression so full of want.

"Vhenan," he says.

She forgets how to speak when he pushes her pants down over her hips, when he gets them off her legs and he throws them. She forgets to breathe when he touches her. When he hooks a finger inside her. When he realizes just how wet she is for him, and he looks at her like he wants nothing more than to devour her.

Well. She's not going to complain.

She has a moment to grip him through his pants before he pushes her hand away, before he frees himself. She feels the brush of heated skin for just a moment and then he's parting her. He's easing inside. Slow. So painfully slow. He holds himself still, savoring the moment, and she is going to kill him if he doesn't move.

She tries to rock against him. She tries, but he has her trapped against him as his breath warms her skin. 

He feels too good inside her. It isn't fair. It isn't right.

"Solas," she says, and she is a little embarrassed at how it sounds. It is a whimper. It is needy.

He moves. He does. The first thrust is still slow, but the second is better, still too soft. The third though. The third thrust drives the air out of her lungs. She holds on, she arches until her clit is rubbing against something. Each time he moves. Each time.

She makes a ridiculous sound. She squeezes him. 

"Ma sa'lath," he says, "You don't know what you do to me."

She thinks she should say something, but he shifts the angle just a bit. He tilts her hips and he drives into her and she can't remember what words are.

It catches her off guard this time because he is a bit of a sneaky bastard. He knows how to touch her. He knows what she needs. She clenches down and her body is sparking. She comes and he follows a few seconds later, his hips stuttering, riding out the last wave of her orgasm. 

She can't move. She stares up at him while she tries to catch her breath. He kisses her again. He pushes her flat against the wall and she can feel his heart racing. 

"Thank you for this," she says.

When he looks at her, he is smiling. He is more than a little smug. So very pleased with himself. 

She kisses his mouth. She uncoils her legs from around his waist. She is shaking. She is still sparking. Just a little. Just an echo.

"Ar lath ma," he says.

"Ar lath ma," she says, and she smiles because she remembers what she's supposed to say to him. He kisses her nose. He kisses the space between her eyebrows. He kisses the top of her head.

It changes nothing. He is not that clever.

"Are you hungry?" he asks, "I have just realized I may have worked through lunch."

"I can spare a few hours," he says, "If you'd like to---" he trails off again. He tries to kiss her. 

She smiles and dodges. She leads him away from the eluvian, to their room. She makes him chase her. She makes him catch her.

"Vhenan," she says when pushes her onto his desk.

"Hmm?" he asks. He kisses a trail down her throat.

"One week," she says.

He pulls back just enough to look at her and he is confused. 

"You're giving me one week," she says, "Not a couple of hours." Because he works too hard and there is no reason for it. He is punishing himself again. And she is tired of it. 

He sighs.

"There is too much to be done---"

"One week," she says, "Or I'm setting the Vir Dirthara on fire."

He is not amused but he knows better than to argue. Abelas is not incompetent. And the Vir Dirthara is not made out of ice. It won't melt while he's gone. It will be right where he left it, waiting.

She kisses him. She touches his face. She gets him to smile. 


	5. Reunited: The Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas has a surprise for Ellana. She has a surprise for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff is hard.  
> This is sort of a prologue to a prompt from EmmG for an awkward happy papae Solas.

He can't believe she hasn't figured it out yet. It has taken him months to get everything just right, just perfect, and he has worked far too many late nights to accomplish it. He is glad it is almost finished. One more day, perhaps. She has been patient up until recently. 

She has started to put her foot down.

"You are working too hard," she says, "Let someone else take care of things for the day. Let Abelas. Isn't he supposed to be helping you?"

It is hard to argue when she has her hand down the front of his pants, when she's working him free.

"Vhenan," he says, and whatever else he meant to say breaks off. She takes him in her mouth and he is...moaning. His eyes shut. He forgets where he was going with this. All he can think about is the heat, the wet touch of her tongue, the way she---

She grips the base as she pulls off of him, the light suction making an obscene pop.

"You're taking the day off," she says, "Aren't you."

It is not a question. 

"Of course, vhenan," he says, and she descends again. He grips the sheets. Abelas can handle what little remains. His notes are clear. He'll have no trouble following them. 

She would be happier if she knew, if she guessed what he was really working on. She would understand why he has to work late. Why he has had to be absent so often. Or she would be furious for the lie. It wouldn't be the first he's told her. He isn't working on the Vir Dirthara. 

He isn't.

 

Abelas has been avoiding her. She knows. Something is going on. She should care. Really. She should.

He sees her coming and he pretends he means to go to the kitchens instead of the eluvian, but she is not fooled. He would never willingly take a stack of research materials where they could be damaged by cooking oil or flour or fire. He is worse than Solas in that respect. He turns purple when someone folds the corner of a page to mark their place in a book.

She is tempted to follow him, to make him sweat a little, but she is not really in the mood. And the thought of breathing in more food smells is making her want to stuff wax up her nose. 

She has more important things to worry about than what elvhen project Solas is really working on while he's supposed to be finishing the Vir Dirthara. Everything has gone sideways lately. She has only just had a moment to speak with the healers, to find out why. If Solas would stop for just a moment and look at her, he'd know. 

She is not pleased. She isn't upset about the idea of a baby, but she is worried about telling Solas. They haven't talked about it yet, their future. They haven't considered---

They...miscalculated. 

She has to tell him. She doesn't know how to tell him.

Maybe tomorrow would be better, she thinks, and then she sees him, holding a small stack of papers and whispering something to one of his scribes. Standing in the hall and looking far too alert for the early hours. He is not supposed to be working, but clearly, he is. He is supposed to give her one, just one of his days, but clearly, he can't.

No. She isn't pleased at all.

He hands the stack to the scribe when he sees her. He smiles. He starts to. But it catches somewhere in between that and mild alarm when he sees her face.

"Ellana?" he asks.

The scribe scurries away. Like a rat. Good, she thinks.

She kisses Solas on the cheek. 

"You promised you'd take the day off," she says.

"And I am," he says, he tilts her head back, kisses her, "That was the last of it. I am yours today, vhenan." And the way his voice drops---the suggestive lilt deflates some of her anger. He is here and he is hers to do terrible, wonderful things to. She has missed him. 

But the day passes and she doesn't have his attention. He thinks about something else and she catches him staring into space. Too many times.

 

He can tell, she is surprised to see him when she wakes. Her breath rushes out and her face lights up. He feels a pang of guilt.

He should have planned things a little better. He should have made allowances for this, for her. But he is always so good at getting swept away.

"Good morning," he says.

She props herself up on her elbows. She blinks, rubs the corners of her eyes. She yawns.

"Hey, don't I know you from somewhere?" she asks.

"Do you?" he asks. And he can't resist. He cups her face, he leans in and kisses her. He has most certainly spent too much time away. He had no idea how starved he was for her. 

"Fereldan Brothel?" she asks when they break. She is breathless and her hair is as wild as the tangle of sheets around her, proof of another restless night. Some sleep still and silent, but she never has. She talks, she moves, she remembers none of it when she wakes. He feels another pang of guilt. He has missed too many mornings.

"Not likely," he says.

She pretends to think.

"Orlesian bakery?" she asks and she is being ridiculous. 

"Probably not," he says, and he is tracing a path down her chest, between her breasts, lower. Her breath catches. Her eyes go wide. She bites her lip and if she doesn't stop, he doesn't know that they'll ever make it out of bed.

"Tevinter Dance Hall?" she asks. But then she laughs. He has missed the sound. He kisses her again and again and he is starting to think he will never get to show her the surprise.

When he pulls away, they are both breathless.

"Definitely not. It was a sick room in Haven and you were unconscious," he says "You are being very silly this morning." But he can't help himself. She is beautiful and this is perfect and he feels like he is smiling too wide, too much.

"I'm surprised to see you," she says.

"I have a surprise for you," he says.

The long nights and days are worth it now, he thinks, just to see her face now. Just to see the way she lights up. 

"I have a surprise for you too," she says, and he thinks some of her smile slips.

"Vhenan?" he asks. And now, he is concerned. 

She shakes her head. She sits up. She kisses his nose. 

"You first," she says, "Consider it my revenge." He snorts.

"Oh, revenge, is it?" he asks, "For what, may I ask?" And he can't resist. He kisses the spot just below her ear. He is very close to pushing her back against the pillows, to stretching out over her and---

"Revenge for all those nights you were supposed to come home and didn't," she says, "And I had to catch you sleeping with the Vir Dirthara." But she is laughing again. He is glad she isn't serious because he feels terrible. 

When she looks at him, her brow furrows. She touches his face.

"I don't mean---I'm sorry, don't feel bad. I'm only teasing," she says, "I'm not upset."

"I know, ma sa'lath," he says.

They are never going to make it out of this bed, he thinks. He kisses her again and then he forces himself to sit back, to swing his legs back over the side and stand.

"Solas?" she asks.

"Get dressed, vhenan," he says, "Your surprise is...elsewhere. We have to walk."

And he is nervous again because he doesn't know if she'll even like it. He could have misunderstood. He could have chosen poorly.

 

She is not pleased about the blind fold but she complies. She is more curious about the surprise than anything. He has been so frustrating as of late, it is a relief to see a change. 

She doesn't want to talk to him about---well, about _it_. The miscalculation. The.. baby. She still doesn't know how to tell him.

He checks to be certain she can't see anything and then he takes her hand. He leads her through the final eluvian. She doesn't know what to expect. She can't even begin to guess, but she is starting to feel better about all of his late nights. Maybe that's what it all was---it was her surprise.

He touches her shoulders and she feels him lean against her, his lips grazing her ear.

"You may look now," he says.

And so she does.

He is ridiculous. He is wonderful.

It's a small house with a pretty front door. Through the windows she can see the bookshelves. She can see the stacks and stacks of books. She can see the ugly, mismatched, overstuffed chairs---one of Keeper Deshanna's quilts draped over the back of the ugliest.

She looks at him and she doesn't know that she really understands.

He is grinning.

"There's more," he says, "Go inside."

Her hands are shaking, but she opens the door. She sees the ceiling. She can't breathe. He has painted it to look like the night sky. He has painted the constellations, and in one of the corners of the room, the sunset.

There are so many bookshelves. There are so many books. 

There is a staircase leading down and one leading up, but she is too overwhelmed to look just yet. He did this for her, and she knows, this is what all those late nights were about. This is what he was doing. He is ridiculous and perfect.

She is going to cry.

He is looking at her and he seems concerned.

"Ellana?" he asks, but she can't speak. She throws her arms around him and she can't remember the last time she was this happy. She kisses him. She flattens herself against him. She kisses him again.

The tension goes out of him and she realizes he was worried she hated it. He took her silence the wrong way. She is terrible.

"It's perfect," she says, "Everything is---you know me so well."

He does.

 

He can't relax until she smiles because she goes terribly quiet. He has never been very good at reading people, not even her. But she likes the house. He can see it now.

She hasn't seen the downstairs or the bedroom. He thinks she will like both, but until she does, he can't be sure. 

She hesitates. She looks worried again---he thinks she does.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"I suppose it's time for your surprise then," she says, but her tone suggests he isn't going to be happy. 

She takes a breath and she takes his hands. Something _is_ wrong. Not with the house, not with that, but with her. With them? And now he's worried that he took too long to build it, to explain. She was hurt and it is lingering. Their relationship is damaged because he didn't show enough care. There is a spike of panic. 

"I'm not sure you should tell me," he says, trying to smile, "Are you alright?"

"I'm pregnant," she says, "Surprise?" 

She tries for a smile but falls short. Her face is red and she looks like she's going to cry. She is holding his hands too tightly and---wait, what did she say?

"What did you say?" he asks. 

He thinks he must have heard her incorrectly, but he didn't. She's pregnant. She's carrying their child. She is---he's going to be---he never thought he would ever---

"I said I'm pregnant. Don't just stare at me. Say something," she says, "Now please. Before I panic."

He kisses her instead. He kisses her until they are both breathless and he can't remember what they were doing before this. They are going to have a child. She is going to be---she is the mother of his child and he is going to be a father. This is not what he expected her to tell him. He doesn't know how he isn't still dreaming. 

He is smiling. He must be, because his face is starting to hurt.

"You're not upset?" she asks. Impossible.

"Never," he says, "Not about this. Are you?"

She shakes her head. She buries her face against his chest and he has never been this happy before. It is unexpected, it is perfect. He holds her a little more tightly, he breathes. 

But another thought strikes him just then. He jolts.

"What is it?" she asks. She looks up. 

The house is too small. He built it without thinking they might have, might need more than one bedroom. He had meant to put in a guest room, eventually, but he was too excited. He had rushed to finish everything.

"Nothing's wrong," he says, "We will have to build another room. I will have to start work as soon as possible---" More long hours. More long nights. More grumbling from Abelas. He already knows what she's going to say.

"Not if you value your life," she says. She sounds stern but he likes the way she looks at him, the way her gaze turns soft. 

"We will need a nursery," he says. He doesn't know much about babies or what they need, but he knows that much.

"Later," she says. Of course, he thinks, she is right. They will talk later and they will decide how to proceed. There's no need to rush. She squeezes his hand and he thinks she means she wants to see the rest of the house first. It would make sense. 

She leads him upstairs.

And---oh.


	6. Reunited: Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas has a daughter.

Ellana is miserable but she wouldn't trade any of this for anything.

She watches Solas shuffle and rock and shuffle and rock the baby while she screams. Her tiny fists wave in the air and she is so red. They haven't begun to think of names yet, they should have had more time, but the little one had other ideas.

She has never seen him smile like this before. He was uncertain at first, but now, it seems he will be fine. He is enchanted. 

She feels like she hasn't slept in days. Every part of her hurts. But it is worth it to see this. Him holding their only child, him smiling, him making accidentally ridiculous faces when the baby decides she has had enough of Papae for the night.

He forgets and kisses her on the top of the head again. 

"Do you want me to take her?" she asks.

For one so small, she has such strong dislikes. Woe unto anyone who wakes her. Woe unto anyone who touches her head. Woe unto anyone who disturbs her when she doesn't want to be disturbed.

"Only if you want to, vhenan," he says, "We're doing just fine, aren't we, da'len?" And his smile is beautiful. 

Their daughter would be the baldest infant Ellana has ever seen, she thinks. She has Solas' chin and his disposition, as well, and Ellana's nose. She suspects she sees the Lavellan cheekbones too but it is too early to tell.

She is perfect.

This is perfect.

"We should try to think about names," she says. And she yawns. She should really think about sleep.

 

He has held babies before. This part is nothing new. But this one is his. And that part is different.

She has his unfortunate hair line. For now, at least. She has his chin as well and her mother's nose. The rest is too close to tell. She is a mixture of both. She is perfect.

He kisses the top of her head and she screams. She waves her tiny fists in the air and wriggles as much as she can. She is so very red.

Ellana sighs and pushes herself up a little higher on the pillows.

"Do you want me to take her?" she asks, but she sounds exhausted. There are dark circles around her eyes. She is pale. She is sweaty. She looks like she's going to pass out.

"Only if you want to, vhenan," he says, "We're doing just fine, aren't we, da'len?"

He shifts back and forth, from left foot to right. Eventually some of the rage starts to leave her little body, and she quiets. But she peers at him through the narrowed slits of her eyelids and he thinks he should be a little afraid. 

Ellana relaxes. He hopes she will finally sleep.

"We should try to think about names," she says, but her words slur together. She is already starting to doze.

"Perhaps later," he says, "There is plenty of time. Isn't there, da'len?"

The baby is not impressed. She shuts her eyes and he thinks he has been dismissed. She is going to have his disposition as well, poor thing. Perhaps his love of the Fade. He can show her Arlathan. He can teach her long forgotten spells and magic. He can show her the past.

Her fingers are so small. Her skin is so soft. And she is such a wonderful, new person. He catches himself before he kisses the top of her head again. But it takes everything he has.

Ellana is sleeping now. It wouldn't do to wake her.


	7. Reunited: Pets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things are harder for Neria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be slow for a while, but I have more AOF planned. June and July are stupid busy.

Neria doesn't smile.

She doesn't laugh.

Neria stacks her blocks. She doesn't really play with them. She does tthe same with all of her toys. She puts them in neat little lines. She stares at them. She is furious when anyone moves them, and when she is furious, she is terrifying.

She screams. She cries. She melts down and there is nothing they can do that will calm her. The first three years of her life, he feels like they are walking on eggshells. It gets easier but there are still moments they forget something important. 

There is always something important. She is particular about things.

And she can't help it. Cole is the one who tells them. He explains as best he can. It is who she is, it is in her blood.

She doesn't like to be touched. She doesn't like noise. She doesn't talk any more than she absolutely has to. She prefers to answer yes or no questions. She doesn't like to explain anything. When pressed, she shuts down. She refuses to respond.

She hates the colors red and orange. She hates the feel of her own hair---if they aren't quick enough to cut it for her, she does it herself. She hates the feel of anything on her neck and shoulders. She hates most fabric---she will only tolerate soft, thin cloth. Never anything heavy or thick.

She struggles in the Fade. It is chaos and she does not handle chaos. Most nights she wakes screaming, crying---she does not sleep well.

But when she is three she can manipulate the elements better than most of the people Solas has met in this world. She is the way children were before the Veil. Her favorite is always ice---she sculpts it into peculiar shapes. But as she gets older and better at it, the shapes start to look like things. They looks like people and animals. They look like places.

She makes a replica of the cottage when she is seven. It is done exactly to scale. Solas is stunned when he realizes. 

"She is brilliant," he says.

"I wonder where she gets it?" Ellana asks but she is laughing. 

He kisses her cheek.

"Clearly, her mother," he says.

She doesn't argue.

 

Neria has trouble with the new baby. She tries. He can tell, but Mahanon is a struggle. He cries, he doesn't sleep enough, and he wakes them at odd hours. He disrupts her routine.

Solas is surprised, after the first time, Neria doesn't scream when Mahanon screams. She has puzzled out the noise frightens him, makes it last longer. If she can stay quiet, he will stop sooner. It is hard for her, he can tell, but when Mahanon is loud, sometimes she is able to retreat. She is able to stay quiet.

Many times, Solas finds Neria in her closet with her hands pressed to her ears.

She ices the door the first time. It is so thick he fears she won't be able to breathe---it is a struggle to stay calm long enough to dispel her magic. It is a struggle not to panic. And afterwards he is shaking. He doesn't know what he would have done if anything had happened, if she had hurt herself.

Her lips are tinged blue but she is alright. He is shaking and it is difficult to explain why she should never do that again. He doesn't know how much of the talk she understands, but by the end, he thinks she gets most of it. 

Ellana intervenes. She gives him the now sleeping baby. She sets Neria to practicing more ice sculptures---to drain her mana. She brings her hot chocolate in the special blue mug from Uncle Dorian. 

They will have to be more careful. They will have to try harder, he thinks.

Mahanon is in awe of her. He watches her with wide eyes. He reaches for her, he tries so terribly hard to get a fist full of her hair---short though it is. He screams to get her attention. He cries when she won't play with him.

When he learns to crawl, it is a nightmare. Solas doesn't know how they're going to survive it.

Solas is glad when Cole comes. He is glad when he stays and he thinks Neria is too. She doesn't have friends---other children are baffling to her, but she has Cole. 

Solas loves his daughter more than life itself, but sometimes, it is hard to reach her. He thinks he is failing. He thinks she deserves to have better than a useless fool for a father. 

Ellana kisses the top of his head. She tells him he is too hard on himself. She tells him they're doing just fine. She tells him Neria is happy.

 

When Neria is eight Cole brings her pair of geckos. Solas watches. He holds his breath. He wonders if he should intervene because he doesn't think this will go well. Cole is wonderful most of the time, but he should have asked first. He should have.

She sits with Cole and stares as he places them on the floor by her feet. 

"They want to live with you now," he says, "I can show you how to take care of them." But this has not been discussed. Solas doesn't know what Ellana will say when she sees them.

"Cole," Solas says. He is going to tell him he will have to return the creatures to their natural habitat but the gecko cranes its neck. It looks up at Neria and its tongue sort of darts out. It takes one small step toward her. 

Neria touches its head.

Neria smiles.

She laughs.


	8. Reunited: Toothless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mahanon is a silly baby.

He holds on to Solas' pant leg and pulls himself up. He smiles, momentarily pleased with his accomplishment. He opens his mouth.

He bites him. Hard.

Solas sighs. 

"How many times must we go over this, da'len?" he asks, "Your father is not food."

Mahanon laughs and does it again. It is fortunate he doesn't have teeth yet. Solas finally relents. He sets the brush aside. He wipes his hands. He picks him up, settles him on his hip, and looks at him.

"What am I going to do you with?" he asks.

Mahanon babbles. It sounds almost like a question. He pokes Solas' cheek, he grabs for his nose. He opens his mouth and tries to bite him again, this time his face. Always the face. Solas only just leans back in time.

And Solas can't help but laugh.

"Very well, shall we find Mamae?" he asks.

Mahanon shuts his eyes and lifts his head back and smiles. He makes a strange hissing sound. Then, he opens his eyes. He laughs.

"Yes, I suppose you're right," Solas agrees, mystified, "Be sure to tell Mamae all about it."

The child hisses again. He turns to look over Solas' shoulder, perhaps to look at the new painting, but no. He bunches Solas' sweater up. He bites it. He stuffs it in his mouth and sucks on it. 

 

Ellana is in the Quiet room with Neria. The door is shut. He opens it, just enough to get her attention. 

Neria is hunched over another sculpture, something curiously like a dragon. He can't see her face, but he knows she will not appreciate the interruption. He nods to Ellana and shuts the door again. He waits for her.

After a moment, she comes.

Mahanon is still chewing on Solas' sweater, content for now. When he sees Ellana though, he grins. He hisses. He laughs.

And then he babbles.

"He is biting again," Solas says, "I suspect he's hungry."

"Are you hungry, little man?" she asks.

She holds out her hands to take him, but he turns his head. He hunches a little. He stuffs the sweater back in his mouth. Solas pats his back.

"I don't think it's wise to put that in your mouth," he says, and Mahanon ignores him. He pulls on it. He stretches his head back as if he's trying to tear a chunk out of it.

Ellana laughs.

"No, Mahanon, we do not eat clothing," he says.

"Come here," she says, still smiling, still laughing. Solas pries the sweater out of his mouth as Ellana scoops him up. 

He whimpers a little but only for a moment. Ellana kisses his cheek and he is laughing again. He is the strangest child, Solas thinks.

"I'll feed this little nuggalope then," she says, "Neria's almost done. Another ten minutes maybe."

He nods, but he thinks she's being far too conservative with her estimate. He kisses her and Mahanon is poking his cheek again. He is leaning in, trying to help, and he is slobbering over them both. When they break apart, Mahanon grabs for his sweater again. And then Ellana is whisking him away.

Solas joins Neria in the Quiet room, careful not to distract her. It is a dragon, he admits. She is forming the horns. The sculpture is much sharper than he likes, and she is so very young. It takes everything he has just to stay silent. They do not talk in the Quiet room. It is the rule. And he is not allowed to help her. That is the other rule. Ellana insists.

Neria doesn't look at him but he isn't surprised. She usually doesn't. He watches. He waits. He is very glad the sculpture is made of ice and it won't last very long. Once she's finished and the magic stops, it will begin to melt. 

The pointed edges with soften. They will drip. They will run. But not soon enough, he thinks.

 

They switch again. 

He takes Mahanon and Ellana joins Neria, who is nowhere near finished. Everything must be just right and the dragon is giving her trouble. She insists on forming each tiny scale. It would be impossible for most anyone else, and though talented, she still lacks the refinement she demands of herself. He hopes she will be satisfied with the outcome. He hopes she won't get herself too worked up about the things she can't get perfect. 

Mahanon gets a glimpse of the Quiet room and Neria and he is not happy. He reaches for the door. He strains. He lets out one of his terrible, ear piercing shrieks, because he wants to play with sister and sister most certainly doesn't want to play with him.

Solas carries him away as quick as he can, because the Quiet room isn't sound proof. Neria can still hear. Especially a scream like this. And she has a very limited amount of tolerance when she's creating.

"Neria is busy, da'len," he says, he tries to mimic Ellana's soothing tones, "Don't you want to help Papae?"

He cries. He leans back. His head is almost upside down. Solas shifts him. He tries to distract him with his toys, with pictures, with wisps. 

And he quiets. The wisps usually work when nothing else does. This time is no exception. 

He is still red eyed and sniffling but he smiles. He laughs. He reaches for it. He hisses again. 

Solas kisses the top of his head and he wonders why he keeps making that sound. Where did he learn it?

"When you're older, we'll teach you how to cast one of your own," he says, "Would you like that?"

Mahanon bites him, and Solas realizes he was wrong. He is not toothless. He has exactly one and it is very, very sharp.


	9. Reunited: Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mahanon is a handful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to write some happy Solas stuff.

Neria likes the library because it is quiet. When the Vir Dirthara is finished, he is surprised at how well she takes to it. She is allowed to bring her geckos if she is careful. She sequesters herself in one of the research rooms.

Mahanon is another story. He does not understand the necessity for quiet. Much of the time is spent chasing him down and taking him outside where he can be as loud as he wants. Abelas is only amused for the first two minutes, then, Solas thinks he's going to take him aside to have words.

He doesn't understand how Ellana can be so patient. 

The next time they venture inside though, he sees the first cracks in her cool exterior. Mahanon starts to pull reference books off the bottom shelves at random, stacking them to make the foundation of what will no doubt be some kind of fort if he's allowed to finish. 

"That's enough," she says, "You know better than to behave like this."

He cries when she makes him put the books back. She helps him get them in the right order. She apologizes to Abelas who is staring, in open mouthed horror at the scene. 

"I'm taking him home, vhenan, if you want to stay with Neria," she says.

She kisses him, and when he nods, she whisks Mahanon through the eluvian. And when he tells Neria, she seems...pleased. She relaxes a little more. She watches her geckos in their carrier. Abelas joins them.

"Your son is a handful," he says, "It has been some time since we've had anyone that young in our ranks, but perhaps, he would benefit from some basic combat training."

"I doubt that is wise," Solas says.

"He has too much energy. He is a very physical child," Abelas insists, "It would help him wear himself out."

"Yes, well," Solas says, "I will discuss it with Ellana, but I doubt she'll agree."

He hopes she won't. Mahanon is far to young to take up a blade. He wants him to stay young as long as he can. He wants him to be a child.

"If it puts you at ease, it would be only the basic physical exercise regimen," he says, "There would be no weapons training. He would run laps and learn the different fighting stances. He would learn self control. I would suggest three times a week until he's older."

It does set him at ease. If it is just exercise, perhaps it will be alright. they will have to think about it.

 

When Neria finally has enough, when they return home, Mahanon is running laps around the yard. Ellana is watching from the swing. She looks tired but more bewildered than anything.

Neria retreats to her room.

"I don't know how he has so much energy," Ellana says, "I'm beat."

Solas considers not telling her Abelas' suggestion, but it has merit. They should at least discuss it. But he doesn't want to discuss it.

He sighs.

"Abelas would like to start him in a training program," he says, "Basic combat training, beginner level. I told him we'd discuss it."

"What does that mean?" she asks.

"He said it would consist primarily of exercise---he'd learn the different fighting stances, self control," he says, "No weapons until he's older. He suggested taking him for a few hours a week."

Mahanon tries to run past them, into the house. Ellana catches him.

"Hey," she says, "No running in the house. You know that."

He pouts. He makes a show of moving very slowly. But Ellana doesn't take the bait.

"That's perfect, da'len," she says, smiling, "Continue just like that." 

"Don't pester your sister," she adds when he reaches the door. He pauses. He shoots a dark look over his shoulder, but for once, he has no response.

"I think it's an excellent idea," she says, "Find out more about what Abelas wants to teach him."

Solas is taken aback.

"But he's so young, vhenan," he says. This is not going the way he had hoped it would. He had thought she would shut it down.

"He's driving me crazy," she says, "He needs something more than we're giving him. Maybe Abelas is right." He suspects he has already lost this battle. 

"Shall we start dinner?" he asks. He doesn't mean to sound so tense, so irritated, but he does. She tilts her head. She looks at him quizzically.

There is a crash from inside. It sounds like glass. It sounds like Mahanon. Again.

"Yes," she says, "I think that would be best."

 

When they are alone, she gets him against the wall. She gets his pants down over his hips. She works him free and sinks to her knees. She takes him in her mouth.

It is...unexpected.

She sucks him. She runs her tongue along the underside. She gets his knees shaking. 

"Vhenan," he says.

He doesn't want to come in her mouth. He wants to pin her under him. He wants to fuck her until he forgets about the chaos of the day. He wants to bury himself inside her heat.

He tugs her arm.

She pulls back, lets him pop out of her mouth. She makes a disappointed sound.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"I want to touch you," he says. She lets him. She helps him peel her out of her clothes. She lets him trace a slow path between her breasts, along her stomach, between her thighs. She lets him spread her open, and she is already so wet. 

He hooks her legs over his shoulders. He presses her down until she is almost flat, her legs to her chest. He eases into her and stops, his thumb working circles against her clit. 

She gasps. She arches when he finally pulls back, when he drives into her.

She moans and he thinks he has never heard anything quite so perfect.

She clenches down. She squeezes him. She does her best not to cry out, not to wake Mahanon or Neria, but by the end of it, she is shuddering out of control, babbling, shaking. He is no better.

He comes inside of her. His vision goes bright and fuzzy around the edges----he collapses. He rolls onto his back. 

She makes a pained noise, her knees popping as they move. Suddenly, he is concerned.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks. He has been careless, thoughtless. He should have been more aware.

"Don't be ridiculous, that was wonderful," she says. She rolls onto her side. She kisses his shoulder. She pulls herself against him, one leg working its way between his. 

She smiles. She sighs. She closes her eyes and for a long time she doesn't speak. He thinks she might be dozing.

But then she says, "We can look for other options. If Abelas' suggestion bothers you, we can try something else. We can wait until he's older."

"Something a bit more acrobatic and a little less battle oriented," she says, "But I do think it's a good idea. You know, Abelas wouldn't let anything bad happen to him."

He is pleased for a moment, but then, the feeling dissolves. He thinks he is being selfish. He is putting his fears and doubts over Mahanon's needs. He is an active child. He needs to run. In Arlathan's golden age, it was customary for children younger than Mahanon is now to start self defense training.

"Perhaps we should hear what Abelas has in mind," he says.

And he knows now, that's exactly what they will do.

"It will be alright, love," Ellana says and she kisses him.

She is right. He doesn't like it, but he knows, she is.


	10. Reunited: Happy Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana has a birthday.  
> Fluff, because reasons.

She wakes up to the feel of a small body jumping on the bed. It is sudden, jarring, and a small foot clips her ankle. It doesn't hurt as much as it could, but still.

When she opens her eyes, Mahanon is grinning at her. His hair is streaked with white---flour, she realizes. It dots his shirt, his face, his pants---

"Happy birthday, Mamae!" he says, but he says it about two octaves too high. He stops jumping. He tackles her with one of his hugs.

Solas comes rushing in. He looks ragged, exhausted. His cheek is dusted with flour and there is something greasy on his shirt.

"He was told to let you sleep," he says.

He gives Mahanon a stern look but Mahanon is unfazed. He scrambles off the bed and tries to run past him. Solas catches his arm. She is always surprised at how quick he is. Mahanon and Solas.

"Don't run," he says before he lets go. And Mahanon is gone again.

Solas sighs. He crosses to the bedside. He leans down to kiss her.

"He's excited this morning," she says.

"Happy birthday, vhenan," Solas says," Your surprise isn't ready."

She arches an eyebrow. Of course. She remembers last year. It has become a bit of a tradition.

"My surprise," she says, "What should I expect?" Because they have had varying degrees of success with birthday surprises. The older Mahanon gets the more chaos seems to occur.

"Your breakfast," he continues, "It was Mahanon's idea. I think it will be fine."

She tugs him down for another kiss. She is looking forward to bed time. Once Mahanon is down for the night, she has plans. It is a shame it is only morning. 

"Breakfast," she says, "I like the sound of it. Does it comes with a side of you?" She hopes it does. There is something about him like this---exasperated and disheveled from the strain of cooking with Mahanon. He is irresistible. 

His cheeks flush and he is much too tense. He throws a glance over his shoulder, to the doorway. But he has nothing to worry about. They are still alone.

"Perhaps later it will," he says. She sees the flicker of a smile. It fades too quickly. 

"Don't even look at the kitchen," he continues, "I'll clean up the mess. Mahanon helped with the flour."

Oh. 

That explains it.

"Neria's making you something special," he continues, "She is...trying something new."

Ellana doesn't believe him. Neria doesn't try new things. She doesn't like change. She doesn't like deviations from her normal. She has gotten a little better at handling small surprises since Cole gave her the geckos, but it isn't an easy thing. 

Ellana is beyond curious. She is eager, so eager to see whatever it is. That Neria is trying something new is already the best birthday present she could receive.

"Should I stay in bed and wait then?" she asks, "Or--"

"I think that would be for the best," Solas says. He kisses her one more time and then he's rushing out of the room. She doesn't smell smoke---whatever he's making, she suspects he's caught it in time. 

She snags the book from her nightstand. She tries to read while she waits. They last time they tried birthday breakfast Mahanon dropped a basket of eggs---there were no survivors. The time before that he broke one of the legs on the kitchen table. There was cake batter all over the floor. There was broken glass. There was milk. It took hours to sort everything out. The poor thing was devastated. 

She can't concentrate on the book. After a while, she hears arguing. She hears Mahanon protesting. She hears Solas telling him to stop.

"Don't pull on the tray," he says, "No, you can't carry it. It's too heavy."

Mahanon is not pleased.

"No. You can carry her present," Solas continues,"Here. Do not drop it---"

"I won't," Mahanon says, "I'm not a baby."

"I know you aren't, but I---do not throw it in the air. It is not a ball. Mahanon, please," Solas says. His voice rises an octave. She is a little worried now, for whatever her present is. She doubts it's fragile, but Mahanon has a talent for destruction.

Solas appears in the doorway. He is carrying a tray of food. She sees pancakes and eggs. She sees something hot in a mug, probably tea. She sees syrup and butter. She sees sausage. And then, she sees Mahanon. He squeezes past Solas, nearly knocking him over. 

The tray lurches in his hands, and it is a miracle he doesn't drop it. 

"Mahanon," Solas snaps. He breathes. He tries to calm himself. 

"Sorry, Papae," Mahanon says, but she doubts he really is. He isn't paying attention. He clambers onto the bed and drops a package into her lap. It's heavy and rectangular. It is roughly the size of a book. It likely is a book. And that makes her happy. She hasn't had anything new to read in a while.

"Neria is on her way up," Solas says, "I promised you'd wait to open it."

She sets the package aside as he places the tray of food in front of her. She hadn't realized just how hungry she was until now, until the smell of it hit her. 

"I made the pancakes," Mahanon says.

"They look wonderful, da'len." She drizzles syrup over them. She cuts a piece with her fork. It tastes like it's supposed to taste. There are no strange ingredients this time. There are no tiny pieces of egg shell. It isn't salty. 

"It's perfect," she says, "Thank you."

Mahanon beams. He slides off the bed and sits on the floor. He goes quiet and she is glad. Ellana eats while they wait for Neria. She is almost finished when she hears her footsteps in the hall.

Neria carries a small ice sculpture. Very small. It sits on a tiny, silverite base. It takes a moment for Ellana to realize what it is. She has replicated her geckoes perfectly.

"This is beautiful, Neria, thank you," she says. But she doesn't see anything different or new. She loves it to pieces but she thinks Solas was mistaken.

Neria's smile is very small but it's there. She doesn't make eye contact. She hands Ellana the sculpture, and she isn't hesitant.

There are sigils on the silverite. When she touches it, she feels Solas' ice magic. No, not Solas' magic. Her eyes go wide.

"She did it herself," Solas says, "I only showed her the first steps."

The base is warded to keep the ice from melting. It is a powerful spell. It is not one easily mastered. It is remarkable. She is proud. She is pleased.

"Oh, Neria, thank you," she says again, "I'm so proud of you."

Neria is quiet. She retreats, but she is not upset. 

"And you, Mahanon, I'm proud of you too---" But she stops because he isn't sitting on the floor. He has vanished. She sets the sculpture carefully on the nightstand. She swings her leg over the side of the bed.

"Where did he go?" she asks.

She feels a hand on her ankle. She jumps. She nearly drops the second present. Mahanon has slipped under the bed. She looks down and he laughs.

She waits for her heart to stop racing before she tries to speak.

"Very funny," she says, and she smiles, "Come out from under there." He disappears back under the bed.

"Mamae's going to open her other present," Solas says.

But Mahanon isn't tempted. He wriggles out the other side and then he's off running. Solas looks like he wants to go after him, but she calls him back. Mahanon helped with breakfast. That likely used up all of his patience.

She unwraps the package. He has given her a book.

Her heart jumps. It is Varric's newest. She hadn't realized it was even out yet. And she says as much. 

"It isn't, " Solas says, "He sent me an advance copy. Just for you, vhenan."

Her heart feels like its fluttering. First breakfast, then Neria's beautiful sculpture, and now this. She can't remember when she's had a better birthday. This one is her best.

"Happy Birthday, Mamae," Neria says. And she is drifting out again. Back to the quiet room, Ellana thinks, back to her sculptures.

"Thank you, love," she says.

"And thank you, vhenan," she says to Solas when they are alone.

The cover says "The Inquisitor's Apostate." She sees a woman caught up in the embrace of a very shirtless, very bald, very muscular mage. The woman looks more like her than she is comfortable admitting. The apostate bears a striking resemblance to Solas. She is going to kill Varric. It will be a slow death. There will likely be some kind of torture. Her face is too hot.

"He didn't," she says. She is going to laugh.

Solas makes a face. He drifts closer. He sits beside her.

"Yes, well, he did," he says, "He promised it won't be too embarrassing, but I am skeptical."

He gets his hand behind her neck. He kisses her cheek, his breath pleasantly warm on her skin.

"I'm sorry it wasn't the next edition of Sword and Shields" Solas says, "He isn't working on it until next year."

"This is perfect," she says, because it is. Even if she's embarrassed now. Even if Varric has written terrible, graphic sex scenes that are definitely about her and Solas. Gods. Oh gods.

She catches Solas' lips. She kisses him properly. She kisses him until he makes those lovely breathless sounds, until he works his hands down to the small of her back, until she feels him smiling. 

She is so happy.

She is.


	11. He Has Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris POV on things
> 
> From the time Lavellan arrives in Kirkwall to Dirthamen's possession of Solas.

_The first time_

She is another fool too willing to play with magic, he thinks, when he first sees her. The Inquisitor. The mage. The woman who fell in love with the monster who destroyed the world. It is not fair that she gets to live. She does not deserve it. 

He stays away. He doesn't want to meet her. 

But he glimpses her from a distance. She is small and quiet, and when Mahariel hugs her, she is bewildered. There is a green glowing thing in place of her left arm. More magic. Another gift from the Dread Wolf. She is probably a spy and Sera is a fool to trust her.

And Hawke is gone. Buried. He didn't think it could hurt so much. That last kiss wasn't enough. 

He lets Mahariel take charge of her for far too long because he doesn't want to see her face. He doesn't want to look at her. He wants to bury his sword in the Dread Wolf's chest, but he will have to make due with his petty, foolish soldiers. That is why he heads back out of the city. He hunts for the Dread Wolf's forces. He kills them all. Every day. He would spend all of his time this way if he could find a way to survive without sleep.

He can't save Hawke, but he can save the city. 

There is nothing good left in this world.

 

_When Kirkwall Falls_

The Dread Wolf comes for her. Of course. He knew it would happen, he told Mahariel they should send her away. But Mahariel collects people the way Hawke did. Can't bear to let anyone go.

The thought of losing the city makes his chest ache. This was Hawke's home. Their home. It is all he has left.

And the Dread Wolf will take that too.

This is Lavellan's fault. And Sera's. They should have known better. Sera, at least, she have known, but he wonders if she is fooled because Lavellan's is a familiar, pretty face. They have lost so many people, maybe she just didn't want to see it. Maybe she doesn't care. 

Lavellan has been talking to the Dread Wolf in her dreams and Mahariel doesn't see that as a betrayal. It should be reason enough to throw her out. But Sera, the Jennies, they will not hear any of it. They are too stubborn. They are blinded by all they lost to bring her here. She is one of them. They can't see that she isn't. They won't see her for what she is. 

And of course, he's the one who has to lead them out of the city. Mahariel and Velanna split the Grey Wardens and they stick him with the Jennies, with her. He has to listen to her voice. He has to look at her and know.

He would hand her over if it meant sparing Kirkwall.

Maybe he's weak. Maybe he doesn't care.

 

_In June's Temple in the Deep Roads_

He doesn't know why he saves her. He shouldn't. But instinct kicks in and he forgets she isn't one of them. The Sha-Brytol warrior lunges for her.

Fenris puts his fist through his chest.

It is a simple thing. It is a thing he has done countless times before. He defends. He protects. It is what he does when he can. And the look of surprise on her face, the breathless look she gets when she realizes what almost happened...she starts to smile. 

And it burns. 

But it is not just her that does it. It is the Sha-Brytol warrior. It is the red lyrium. It is his mistake, because he was as stupid as Sera, helping the Inquisitor instead of taking care of himself first. 

Her eyes go wide with terror and concern and he doesn't want to see it. He is flooded with pain and he wants to die. Maybe Hawke will find him then. Maybe it will be an end to all of this.

Sometimes he forgets what Hawke sounded like. The laughter. The whispered I love yous and the feel of soft lips pressed to his ear. He can almost hear it when he's dying. He can almost see.

But Merrill intervenes. Pull him back from the edge. Of course. 

"Hawke wouldn't want this," she says.

But Hawke isn't here.

 

_On the Road to Nevarra City_

He doesn't want to like her. Lavellan. She is not what he expected. 

She isn't. 

He keeps Velanna from telling her anything. He doesn't want her to know where they're going. He doesn't trust her yet. Doesn't want to trust her. Still. He pretends he feels nothing when she isn't quick enough to hide her hurt. She wants to belong, and god only knows why.

He just might hate her because he can't hate her. She is too eager to help. She offers too much of herself. She sacrifices what she shouldn't for people she doesn't really know. 

It carries into her sleep. She talks. She's restless. Angry.

She doesn't send the Dread Wolf away. Maybe she can't. He still doesn't care. But when she wakes she looks...haunted. Broken. She is afraid. If he didn't know better, he'd believe she didn't want the Dread Wolf in her head. She is in love with him. Still. But it is as if she doesn't want to be. It's as if she hates him too. And herself. 

And that is why Fenris doesn't think he can hate her. 

The Dread Wolf is no kinder to the people he loves than he is to his enemies. She is kind, though. She might even be beautiful.

He wishes she was smarter. 

 

_The Dread Wolf Comes to Hunter Fell_

He is prepared to turn himself over to the Dread Wolf in exchange for the Grey Wardens and the Red Jennies. For Sera and Loranil. For Skinner and Dalish. They were stupid to get caught, but he doesn't know what he will do if they are killed. He stand by and watch..

He has always been ready to die.

And then he sees Lavellan's face and he can't talk. He can't think. 

She is rage. She is someone else. She is beautiful. 

"Sit down," she tells him, "You aren't going anywhere."

I'm getting them back," she continues, "I'm getting them all back." In that moment, he believes her. He believes everything.

And she does get their people back. She trades herself for them. For his life. She is shaking and she looks like she's going to be sick, but she does it anyway. He has been nothing but rude and unfriendly and she is still willing to save him.

He feels...shamed. This is not what is supposed to happen. 

But he wants to die. It was his choice. Not hers. Not this time. She should have let him.

He is so angry. He is. 

 

_She Comes to Vigil's Keep_

He doesn't expect to see her again, but then, all of a sudden, there she is. Alone. On foot. So small and tired and sorely in need of a real meal.

Truth be told, he didn't expect to see her again. He didn't expect the Dread Wolf to let her out of his sight.

But she is here. 

Her smile is small, cautious. But there is something else. There is something different. Something broken. She is changed.

And it is his fault because it happened because she saved his life. 

He feels worse when she tells them what happened. When she tells them about Sylaise and the orb and Falon'Din. That is when his sympathy turns sour. 

She stuffed herself full of magic again and she did it to save someone who doesn't deserve it. 

She is a fool and why does he care? If he had let the Dread Wolf kill him, she would be herself. There would be no Falon'Din or Sylaise or whatever else this is. 

Hawke would have saved her.

 

_Razikale_

They make too many mistakes. Mahariel. Merrill. 

And how wrong is it that Sera is the only one who makes sense. They can not defeat the Dread Wolf if they take in enough magic to become him. It only turns them into the next monster. They will lose themselves.

Razikale is dangerous. She is evil. So of course Merrill allows her into her head. Of course she does. He feels like he's the only one who can see the danger. Besides Sera, he's the only one who can see how this will end.

It hurts to breathe. 

He is done following Mahariel. This path leads nowhere. 

He can't lose any more people. There are so few of them left. When he thinks about that, he remembers the ones they've already lost. He remembers Hawke and he wants---no, he needs a drink. 

Lavellan looks at Razikale and then she looks just as afraid as Fenris is. He is sure he must be imagining it. She has a demon of her own, scrambling for purchase. This should not alarm her. But it does. She looks at Razikale and he thinks she is seeing her for what she really is and not what she wants her to be. 

She lets Razikale pull that demon out of her head. Falon'Din. He is surprised. That kind of power, it is too seductive. It is too alluring. 

But maybe she has more sense than he's given her credit for. 

 

_Will You Come With Us?_

It is supposed to be Sera, but he does it himself. He doesn't know why. He shouldn't. They are not friends. He can barely stand to talk to her without snapping at her.

It just sort of spills out. And she is surprised. There is almost a smile on her face and he feels a flutter of something in his chest. He does not want to be happy, but he is. She should smile more often.

"Let me think about it," she says, but he can hear the answer. When they leave, she'll follow and Mahariel will be down one mage. He will have to change his mind. He will have to stop chasing death.

He thinks, maybe, things will be alright.

But then, she unlocks Sylaise's magic. She plays with power she shouldn't again. She is different. She is going to break. Like so many before her, she will destroy herself and Mahariel will help.

He doesn't know why it upsets him. He shouldn't care. Let her destroy herself if that's what she wants. But he does care. He is tired and he can't stop thinking about Hawke. 

She looks hurt when he asks her if she still wants to come with them. She acts like he is insulting her. Like he hates her. Like he is accusing her of something. She acts like he doesn't want her to join them. Maybe she's looking for a reason to stay with Mahariel. Maybe she is.

He doesn't know why he apologizes, but it deflates her. She all but runs away. 

And Zevran will not leave him alone about it.

 

_Dirthamen_

He's the one who pushes it and it almost kills her. She saves Merrill. She frees her from that piece of shit in her head.

She almost dies.

She can't stand up and when she sits she goes sideways. She passes out and she won't wake up. This time, she isn't restless. She doesn't talk in her sleep. She doesn't move. She barely breathes. 

She is so still and quiet, she may as well be dead.

Merrill can't heal her. Not with magic. Not with anything. And the health potion Sera gave her made everything worse. She might be dying. She is. Probably.

He is terrified.

She can't die. 

They can't lose another person. He can't breathe. He can't. How much more can they take? How much more can they stand to lose? 

He carries her because they can't stop. She needs help and they have nothing left. He is waiting, just waiting for her to wake up. But she doesn't. For two days, she sleeps. 

He shouldn't have pushed. He should have let her be until she was ready. But he couldn't watch them lose Merrill. Hawke would have know---Hawke would have---

When she wakes up, he can breathe again. He can sleep. The knot in his stomach finally eases. 

Mahariel is a fool. But so is he. 

 

_Mahariel's Plan_

They have a plan. He thinks. But when he wakes Mahariel is gone and Lavellan is gone, he knows. They have been fooled again. Mahariel is doing what he wants with no consideration for anyone else. He is facing the Dread Wolf without them, with only her. If he means to bargain, it is clear what he plans to bargain with. For Zevran, he would probably betray his own mother. 

He doesn't want to admit he would do the same. For Hawke. For just a few minutes more with Hawke. He would destroy the world. But Hawke would have done what was right, would have sacrificed for the good of the people. Always did. Even up until the end. And so would Lavellan. They have that in common. She means to sacrifice herself. Again.

When he sees Mahariel with Zevran, he knows the bargain has been struck. Lavellan is gone. He has given her back like she is a thing that can be traded. He is so angry. He can't breathe.

He can't.

This is not supposed to happen. 

But then, she's here and Mahariel is pretending this was all as he intended. 

"I told you she was behind me," he says, "Creators, she's the last person in any kind of real danger. She's fine." Another lie. She was in more danger. She could lose herself. Mahariel doesn't care.

But Morrigan returns and she tells a different story. Mahariel didn't try to trade Lavellan. No. It is much worse.

"Mahariel decided it would be best to trick the Dread Wolf into offering himself up as the next host," Morrigan says, "In case any of you were curious, Dirthamen is gone." 

That is when the world stops.

 

_Nightmares_

She is screaming. It takes longer to wake her. It is more difficult. She is digging her fingers into his arms like it is the end of the world again. 

"It's just a dream," he says, "It isn't real."

But when she does wake, she looks up and he can't tell if she's really seeing him. He wants her to, and the thought strikes him so hard, he has to pull away. He has to stop touching her. Because this isn't right. He doesn't. He won't. 

She sits up and her eyes are dull, hollow. She looks empty. She looks defeated. She should never look defeated.

"He's not Solas anymore," she says. 

It takes a moment to understand what she means, and when he does, he is angry again. This is Mahariel's doing. This is Dirthamen. This is everything he tried to warn him about...

He is done. With all of it.

But Morrigan says it. They have no choice. They have to follow Mahariel's plan. Dirthamen is worse than the Dread Wolf. If that's even possible. 

Hawke would know what to do. Hawke would know how to handle Mahariel. Hawke would not be in this mess.

But Hawke isn't here.

He does not want to go to the Anderfels.


	12. He is Fen'Harel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas' thoughts 
> 
> Roughly chapters 2 through 19.

He is trying. He is. But the weight of it all is so heavy. He never meant for this to happen.

When she throws the journal at him, he catches her hands. He presses her to the wall and he shuts his eyes and he wants to pretend she doesn't hate him. He breathes against her throat and she is shivering.

"Oh vhenan," he says. He draws uneven circles on her skin. 

The journal is Varric's. He had thought she'd want it. He knows she does. 

There is no apology he can make, but he wants her forgiveness. Hers over anyone else's. He needs it. 

He hitches her skirt over her hips. He waits for the shift of her body, her permission to continue, and when he feels it, he does. He hooks a finger under her smalls. He nips her collarbone. He makes her shudder against him. 

He can't restore the People. He can't elevate them, and there is no one left in this world he cares about. 

No one but her. There is only her. He is empty.

But she thinks she's alone. She looks at him, and he knows what she sees. The monster and not the man. She doesn't love him.

But he wishes she still did.

 

It is a terrible day when she finds Sera's arrow. Abelas is not quick enough, but it is not his fault. It is not even Sera's fault. It is his and his alone.

The truth weighs heavy on her shoulders. He lied to her. Her People survive. Sera is alive. Her friends. They are hunting for revenge. They are killing needlessly. They are throwing what little they have at him, trying to hurt him.

But they can't. There's nothing they can do that would be worse than this, what he has already done.

She wouldn't have come with him if she had known. And he is weak. He can't let her walk away. It is selfish. It is cruel. 

But she believed in him once. She gave him hope. There is nothing left now. He has broken it all. Mythal is gone. They are all gone.

And Cassandra. Dorian. Blackwall---so many faces, so many people. Real people. They weren't broken shadows. They weren't empty shells. He was wrong and they were real and there are so many of them it hurts to breathe. It hurts. 

He is worse than the Evanuris and he meant to seal them away forever.

She hates him. He knows.

But he loves her. He loves her so much it hurts. The only time he feels anything is when he's inside her, when they can both pretend. When she touches him, when she kisses him, when she holds him. 

He was a fool to throw her away. He will not make that mistake again. 

He can only hope to minimize the damage. He can only hope to hide her away while they deal with Sera. He doesn't relish what he must do. Killing her is a last resort, if he can't capture her, but she can't be allowed to continue. There are not enough people left in the world. She can't be allowed to harm his soldiers.

And Mahariel is no hero. He is no great revolutionary. He is a blight on the world.

Solas will not shed a tear if he dies.

 

He shows her the new city and his People and she hates him even more. She sees ugliness when she looks at it. She doesn't see her people's birthright. She doesn't see restoration.

She thinks of Dorian and Iron Bull and Cole and her face twists in disgust. He can hear everything. She doesn't guard her thoughts, doesn't know how. His fault again. If he had stayed, if he hadn't created the Veil, if he had stopped and just thought about it for a little longer, her People would know who they are and what they could do, what they could be.

She wants to leave.

She hates it here.

But he can't let her go until they stop Sera. He can't.

"Take me back," she says. Her hands clench at her sides. She wants to hit him, hurt him. He makes her sick.

"Tomorrow," he says, "There is still much to do before---"

"Now," she says. She insists. It was a mistake to bring her here. There are too many memories. But she can't go. Not yet.

"Tomorrow," he says, "Perhaps." But he is sorry. He wants her to love this world. He wants her to love this place. He wants her to love him. The past is too much a part of him. She should know. She deserves everything.

"Abelas will send word when it's safe," he promises. It is just a matter of time before he finds Sera, before he stops her foolish rebellion. This is her doing. He can't bear the look on Ellana's face.

His promises mean nothing to her now. 

"What have you done?" she asks. And she is horrified.

No, he thinks, no. Don't look at me like that.

He can't lose her. There is nothing left.

"She will not find you here," he says.

 

They make love. It is harder to shut out the cascade of her thoughts. He tries, but she is screaming, always screaming. He has done this to her. She is broken. Fractured. 

She is getting worse.

She thinks she still loves him, but she wishes she didn't. He can feel it, hear it. He should have stayed. He should have told her the truth in Crestwood. Now, he knows. She would have tried to understand. She would have helped him find another way. Tried to.

She is going to leave him.

He is going to wake up and he'll be alone. She'll walk into the enemy camp and they'll blame her for everything. They'll hurt her. They'll kill her. 

It hurts to breathe.

No. He won't allow it. 

Ellana gets drunk again and she gets caught.  
She steals wine from the stores, from a woman who was old long before he was born. One of Mythal's sentinels who has definite opinions about his relationship with a woman who is little more than a child. Ellana thinks the wine tastes like dirt. She can't even taste it.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," the woman says, "She is too young to understand."

It is taking too long to find Sera. Ellana can't stay here. She will drink herself to death.

He takes her through the eluvian, to one of his Tevinter Safe houses. 

"That's unnecessary," she says, and she is on edge again. She is going to snap.

"You will be safe here," he says. She lets him kiss her goodbye, but he can hear her rage. She will not let him forget this. She is insulted. She feels betrayed again. She thinks he can't see her for who she is.

No, vhenan, he thinks, I do. But this is what must be done. She is fragile now, broken, and it is his fault. He will keep her from danger. He will keep her from harming herself.

But she almost breaks through his wards.

He is gone for three weeks and she almost escapes. He only comes back when word is sent. He is surprised. He knew she was brilliant, but he never thought---the wards are ancient, complicated magic. It should have been harder for her to grasp. She should have struggled.

She comes very close to breaking through and there is nowhere she could have gone. She might have died in the snow. She would have been lost, forever. 

His fault again.

 

They fight. They make love. They fight. She tolerates him. She wants to leave. It is just a matter of time before she finds a way.

It is all he thinks about some days and he can't stand it.

He wants her to be happy. He wants her to want to stay. He wants her to love him again. 

And he is holding on too tightly. He knows. He does. He is making it worse. He is always making it worse.

"Let her go," Abelas says.

"She isn't happy here," he continues, "She'll never be happy here."

No. Unacceptable, he thinks. He can't. They will hurt her when they catch her. They will kill her for his crimes. He has seen what her people will do in the name of Justice. 

He hunts for ancient magic instead. One of June and Ghilan'nain's joint projects. He didn't know why he didn't remember it sooner, but now that he has, it is his best chance. 

Andruil lost an arm once, in a duel. With June's help, Ghilan'nain found away to regrow the limb. It was a remarkable feat, even for the times. Maybe some of her hurt will ebb when she's whole again.

He hopes. 

He tries. 

It isn't enough.

 

They run out of Tevinter Red and that is when it starts to fall apart. Or maybe it was sooner than that, maybe he is lying to himself.

He is reading when she tells him. He is not really listening, but then she is furious. The guards, she says, they wouldn't let her leave.

His blood runs cold.

He tries to keep his face calm, his body relaxed, but he wants to grab her and shake her because she can't be serious. The enemy is hiding in the forest outside and she wants to walk right up to them. She is mad.

"Am I a prisoner?" she asks.

It is like the world stops.

"You aren't a prisoner," he says, because she isn't. She can't really believe he would be with her like that, that he would take advantage of her like that. He feels sick.

"Then tell your guards."

"This is not a request."

He tries to smile. He wants to lighten the mood, but he fails. 

"This isn't funny," she says. And she has never looked at him like this. Never. She doesn't see him.

It hurts to breathe.

How can he fix this? How? he sets his book aside.

"I agree," he says, "It isn't funny." And she thinks he is laughing at her. But he isn't. He couldn't. 

"Stop it," she snaps. 

"I feel like I don't even know you anymore," she says. He feels his face fall. She wants to hurt him now. He knows. She is too angry. He has gone too far.

But it is all for her. It is to keep her safe. She has to understand. She can't mean it.

But she does. She is thinking terrible things. She is so full of rage. She wishes---she wishes.

"I could say the same thing," he counters, "You act like a child, impulsive and volatile. Prone to tantrums when she doesn't get her way." 

He can't stop himself and then they are fighting. She retreats to the library and she will not be moved. She will not be convinced.

He doesn't know what he's supposed to do.

"What do you want me to say?" he asks. He presses her palm to his heart, hoping.

She thinks he believes she is a soulless thing, that she is nothing. She thinks he believes she is empty. How can she think that? After all they've been through---she is the only one. She is.

He should not be listening to her thoughts like this. He should tell her. He knows he should, but he can imagine how that would go. She is angry now, but she will burn the world down around her when she finds out. 

She sleeps in the library. She refuses to come to bed. She refuses to sleep beside him. She refuses to look at him. It hurts. She has no idea how much.

He checks on her later, hoping to talk, to get her to change her mind, but she is asleep in a chair. She looks peaceful. She almost looks happy.

He can't disturb her.

He drapes a blanket over her. He wishes things could be different.

 

There is an explosion. The library is burning and Ellana is going to jump. He catches her, pulls her back, and then she is fighting him. She is trying to get herself killed.

She could have been killed, he thinks. And it's all he can think. It is screaming in his head, over and over again.

Sera has gone too far this time. She has. She dares. He doesn't understand why Ellana cares so much for her. She cares nothing for anything. She cares nothing for who gets hurt.

Ellana struggles. She tries to hurt him. She hits him with spell after spell and he snuffs them out, one at a time. The library is burning and he can't fight her like this. 

She goes limp and he drags her out. 

She screams.

She screams.

But she is safe. Why can't she understand that?

"No," he says,"You are safe." He touches her face and she bites him. She runs. He is bleeding and she runs like he is a damn demon. She can't be afraid of him. She can't. 

He is too rough, he knows. He grabs her. He shoves her harder than he means. She hits her head. She looks at him like he is every bit the monster from the Dalish legends. And he is. He is the monster. He knows.

And that is how Abelas finds them. 

He struggles to regain his composure.

"I have had enough of these games," he says, and he switches to Elvhen because she doesn't understand it. He can say what he needs to say, "Put out the fires. Search the forest. I want them found before morning. This can't continue. Use whatever means necessary. If you have to kill them, so be it."

"Don't you dare," she says. But she doesn't know what he has said. She has no idea. Sera has gone to far. She can't be allowed to---she can't---

"You could have been killed," he says. He is shaking. No, not her, never her.

"Don't you dare!" she shouts.

But he will. There is nothing she can say to sway him.

"I will do what I must," he says.

She looks at him like the world is ending.

 

He regrets it. He does. She won't look at him. She won't let him heal the bruise. She won't let him touch her. He never meant to hurt her. Not her. Never her.

She turns her head when he tries to kiss her.

"I am not your whore," she says.

Her voice breaks and he is going to be sick. He did this to her. He hurt her. He made her think---how can she possibly think this? She is not a whore. She is beautiful. Even broken, even struggling, she is everything. She is the only one. She is.

He should not have assigned guards to follow her, but he is still afraid. He doesn't know why, but it is overwhelming. It chokes him. She would throw herself into danger just to spite him. 

"Is that what you think?" he asks. His voice cracks and she cringes. 

"What else could I think?" she asks.

It is worse than if she'd struck him. He would feel better if she had. This---it is the worst thing she could have said. 

"I love you," he says. He doesn't know what else to say.

"This is not love," she says, 'Don't lie to yourself." He doesn't recognize her when she looks at him like that. Her face is dark, twisted. She is so cold. She was never cold. She was kind. She was thoughtful. She was forgiving. She was different.

"Get rid of my guards," she says, "I want to be alone." My guards and not the guards. Hers, as if she's a prisoner. It's what she believes. All this time. He thought they were together. He thought it was because she loved him, but it was a lie.

She was here because she believed she had no choice. That's how it looks. He hasn't allowed her to leave. He's kept her away from the truth. He's denied her, again and again. He had his reasons, but how could she trust him? How? 

He has made a mess of this. All of it.

She wants to be alone. 

She doesn't love him.

It is his own fault.


	13. Sera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sera/Merrill stuff
> 
> Sera doesn't mean to fall for her, but she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sera's a hard one for me to write.

The first time is wild. It is desperate. It is just supposed to be a bit of fun. They are camped out in the Dread Wolf's damned forest, trying for a little revenge.

Merrill comes with her when she goes to check the traps. She chatters on about nothing and everything and the next thing Sera knows, they are a tangle of arms and legs in the dirt. They are desperation. They are biting their lips and muffling their sounds to keep Loranil from investigating.

Sera doesn't have to tell her much. She knows her way around, and it's a bit of a shock. Merrill's got innocent written all over her face. Sera would have pegged her for a virgin. But her fingers are so very clever. Her mouth is sweet. She makes everything spark. It's the best orgasm Sera's had since...well, since.

The next time is Kirkwall. 

And then Hunter Fell. And Vigil's Keep. And then everywhere. Whenever they have a moment, whenever they have something like privacy. Whenever Mahariel isn't poking around.

Sera doesn't know how it happens but one day it just does. It's more than fun. It's more than just passing time. She's more than just pretty. She's Merrill. 

She's not Dagna, but she's still something special. She's smart, sweet. She's too clever for her own good. Thinks she can handle more than she can.

When Merrill lets Razikawhatsit into her head, that's when things get hairy. Dirthatwat. Elfy Tevinter shite. She's got no common sense. None. She listens to Mahariel when she shouldn't. She's trying to get herself killed.

Of course.

And Sera is afraid. It's Dagna all over again. It's the end. She lets her self give a fuck and it goes to shit. Always happens. She knows better than to care. She doesn't want to care.

But Lavellan and Velanna fix her. They find a way. They tell Mahariel to stuff it. And all Sera can think about is how fucked she is. She loves her. She almost lost her. None of this is the way it's supposed to go.

But the world's not so bad now, maybe. There's something there. There's something worth holding on to. 

When they get a moment, a few days after Dirthatwit bites it, Merrill's all hands and fingers again. She's got a look about her and she kisses her like she has to. Like it's life or death. Sera's not complaining but it is weird.

"Don't let me do that again," Merrill says when she has a moment to breathe. Pfft. As if she can stop her. She tried before. She didn't listen. Not to Sera. Not to Fenris. Only magical mystical freaking Mahariel. Blech.

Merrill gives her another kiss before she can say it. And it's like the first. Wild. Broken. Too much emotion. It makes Sera dizzy. It makes her ache.

"What you want another I told you so?" Sera asks, when she breaks for breath, "Because you didn't listen the first time. Don't let demons into your head. It's bad. There. Got it?"

"And tell Mahariel to stuff it. He's got more balls than brains," she adds.

"You're right," Merrill says, "Of course. I'm sorry."

Merrill tries to smile but it's crooked. She has the front of Sera's pants open. She gets them halfway down her legs before she realizes. It's different. Usually she goes first. Usually Sera's the one starting it up.

But not this time. 

Merrill gets her flat on her back. She gets her legs up over her shoulders and then she's biting the inside of her thigh. She's kissing a trail up.

"I don't know why I---it wasn't supposed to---I don't know," Merrill says.

She makes a soft sound as she buries her face between Sera's legs. She kisses her clit. She sucks on it, flicks it hard with her tongue, and then her fingers are parting her, sliding up. Inside.

Sera hisses. She arches because it's just right. Merrill's got a way about her. She knows. She really does.

Maybe that's why it happens. She tells her because it just slips out. She comes and it's there, hanging off the tip of her tongue.

"Hey, love you," she says, and the world is all fuzzy, it's warm. It's nice.

She says I love you and it's true. Shite, but it is.

Merrill freezes, her face still pressed to her skin. She looks up, eyes wide, and Sera feels about as small as she can. Balls. Shite, because this is just supposed to be something fun. Not supposed to be weight to it. Not supposed to be anything.

Merrill smiles.

"I love you too," she says. And Sera hauls her up. She kisses her mouth. She tastes herself on her tongue.

And that's how it begins.


	14. The Age of Falon'Din Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana fails to separate Solas from Falon'Din and things go very, very differently. She makes it worse. Because of course she does.
> 
> This is an alternate to chapter 48.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for Noncon.  
> This is going to be dark. Possessed Solas is a terrible, terrible person.

There is a moment. She feels the thing inside him pull away. A soul fragment, she realizes, a piece of...Falon'Din? Yes, that is what it is. She knows.

It starts to tear. 

She thinks she just might succeed. She might free him from it. She hopes.

And then it's over. He fights back. She feels her hold break. The soul fragment sinks deeper inside him. It twines around the other threads of magic. She has lost.

He stares at her, his breath coming in heavy, loud, and a shadow seems to pass over his eyes. 

She is afraid.

She runs. Tries to. But he catches her wrist, he pulls back, pulls her down.

He screams at her, shouts. His elvhen is too quick. Each word rolls into the next. She can't understand any of it. 

She tries to push him away but then he's hitting her. Just once, but it is enough. She touches her cheek, tries to focus on the throb of pain. He hurt her. He did. 

Solas. Her Solas. 

She goes quiet and all she can think is this can't be happening. His hands are so cold.

He shakes her. He repeats himself but still, she doesn't understand. She shakes her head.

"I don't understand you," she says. 

His expression has twisted and she doesn't recognize him. This is Falon'Din. It has to be, because Solas would never. He wouldn't hurt her like this. Not intentionally. No.

She can't breathe. 

She wants to hurt him.

He stands, dragging her with him. 

"You will not do that again," he says, finally. His voice is low, little more than a whisper. She has never seen him this angry. Never.

She doesn't feel safe. She isn't safe. 

"You killed me," she says, "What did you think I would do? Just smile and forget it. I was dead."

She turns her head, expecting him to strike her again, but he doesn't. He starts to, but catches himself. He looks confused. But then, the anger is back, overwhelming him. 

He locks her in her room. She doesn't see him for the rest of the day. 

She doesn't know what will happen when he returns. She doesn't want to know. 

She is afraid.

He isn't Solas. Not really. Not anymore.

And it is her fault.

 

Somehow, she manages to get the dresser in front of the door. It takes too long, and by the time she's finished, she is exhausted. She can't get the windows open. They are still warded.

Her face is bruised. Her cheek is so sore, it hurts to touch it, it even hurts to open her mouth. He did this. He actually did.

But he finds his way back in, even with the door blocked. She wakes to his hand on shoulder. 

She almost screams.

She tries to push him away, but he catches her wrist and gets it above her head.

"Don't touch me," she says. She tries to hit him with her free hand, but he catches that one too.

He huffs a little, his face shifting from sorrow to frustration. She is even angrier because he can not truly believe he can come back from this. Whatever they had, whatever it was, it is over. 

He hurt her.

He put his hand on her. 

Even if it was Falon'Din. Even if. He was still in there. He was still a part of it.

"I should not have hurt you," he says, "I am sorry. It won't happen again."

"I said don't touch me," she repeats. She squirms. She tries to twist free, but he tightens his hold. He shifts until his weight is pressing her down, pinning her to the ground. 

How could she have ever loved him? How?

"In time, you will love me again," he says.

His voice is strange. Distant. Unfamiliar. She can't breathe. How is this not a dream?

He kisses the bruise on her cheek. As if that could make it better. She tries to burn him. She tries to heat the air. 

He snuffs out the spell as she casts it. She tries again. And she fares no better. 

At the end of it, she is drained and gasping. And he is smiling that strange, horrifying smile.

He is not Solas.

"No," he says, and he is in her thoughts, picking through them like they are bits of paper in the trash, "I am not. I am more. We are more. You'll see. It is all for the better."

"I am grateful," he adds. He kisses her again.

She is going to be sick.

He sighs and finally sits back up. He lets go of her wrists and she rolls away from him. Just the thought of him touching her now---it is too much. 

"Here is what will happen," he says.

"No. I don't care. Whatever you want, whatever you think, the answer is no," she says, "I don't want to see you. I want nothing more to do with you."

His brow furrows.

"Have you forgotten our agreement?" he asks.

"You tried to kill me," she says, "You hurt me. Consider our agreement broken. I will leave you the first opportunity I have---"

He nods.

"Very well, then I will give the order and your friends will be dead with in the hour."

It is almost as if he strikes her again. The shock is worse. So much worse. He wouldn't hurt them. He wouldn't do this because she refused him. Not Solas. She almost chokes on the rush of rage..

"I am changed," he says, "I would. I will. Look at me, vhenan, and tell me I'm lying. Tell me."

She can't. She can see it in his eyes. He waits, and when she doesn't speak, his smile returns.

"Here's what will happen," he says, "We will put this behind us---" No. We will not, she thinks.

"---and," he continues, "We will move forward." 

She doesn't like the way his gaze shifts over her. The heat of it. The expectation.. No. They will not move forward. He will not touch her again.

"We will marry," he says, "And you will love me again. I have put it off for too long."

She laughs. It is mirthless but she can't stop. He is mad if he thinks she would now. If he thinks she could after all this. No. She will not. 

If any part of him is still Solas, he will stop this. He will let her go.

"I will not let you go," he says, "I will never let you go."

He is still reading her mind. 

She feels sick.

"I don't want to force you," he says, "I love you. With all my heart. But if that is what I must do, it is what I will do."

He leans in close and she can't move. She wants to. She wants to scramble away. She wants to hit him. But she can't. She can only stare at him, horrified.

"You should not have tried to take the soul fragment," he says, "You brought this all on yourself."

He stands. He holds out a hand, waits, and all she can do is stare at it as if he has dunked his hand in worm horse manure. 

"We will marry," he says.

"Tomorrow," he says, and then he grips her arm. He pulls her to her feet and he is too close again. 

She wants to die.

 

It is a blur. There is nothing she can do. She refuses and he threatens her People. She refuses and he tells her what he will do to them. 

He wears Solas' face but he is not Solas because Solas would never do this to her. Never. He is Falon'Din now. He is a stranger.

He brings one of his People and Abelas. And he makes her stand beside him for a ridiculous ceremony she doesn't understand. He makes her promise things in a language she doesn't know. And he kisses her like he means it, like he still loves her.

He couldn't possibly. He is cruel. He is spiteful. 

And then, when she thinks the worst of it is over, he puts his markings across her back. He tries the face first but it fails. A remnant of the spell Solas used to remove her vallaslin. 

He runs his fingers along the lines and says he likes it better there. He calls it beautiful. He calls her beautiful. His. She is his. 

His smile is repulsive. 

His kiss is repulsive. 

She can't stand the feel of him touching her, but he promises to bring her Sera's head as a wedding gift if she denies him. What can she say to that? How can she fight him? She can not let him kill Sera. She can't. 

This is her fault. She could have stopped him. She could have left it alone and he would still be himself. He would not be this stranger. This horrible, nightmare of a man.

He pretends he's making love to her while she stares at the ceiling and waits for it to be over. She doesn't love whoever this is. She will never. 

She can't. 

He pierces the tip of his finger and traces strange sigils on her belly in blood. She feels his magic and she thinks it's to prevent conception. She hopes.

But she is wrong.

 

When he finally lets her leave Skyhold, when he takes her back to his castle, she is struck by the sight of his soldiers. 

They are not the barefaced sentinels she remembers. 

They wear vallaslin. They all do. Falon'Din's markings. Of course, she thinks, of course. And she sees new slaves. Her people, mostly. The Dalish. The city elves. The mages. Her people. Her fault. Her mistake.

Falon'Din---she can't think of him as Solas anymore---is too proud of himself. 

"Do you love me yet?" he asks. He interrupts her meditation because it amuses him. She will not unlock the secrets of Sylaise's magic. Not if he can help it. 

Every day he asks. Every day she answers him the same.

"I despise you," she says.

He laughs. 

He takes her on the floor and he is insatiable. She feels sick after. Always. She thinks she will go mad if she doesn't escape him. She knows it. 

"If you leave me, I will kill them all," he whispers. He doesn't try to pretend he isn't reading her thoughts. He delights in reminding her. She has no secrets. Not from him. Never again.

Abelas doesn't look at her with disapproval anymore. He looks with pity. His is one of the few faces left bare, but his eyes are haunted. He doesn't speak to her.

He dares not. 

Solas was never a jealous man but Falon'Din is. 

 

She unlocks Sylaise's magic by accident. He's off on another quest. Searching the Deep Roads. He is looking for the rest of the gods, he says. He'll kill them all but for Dirthamen. He will save him. And they will rule together. 

As if one of him isn't bad enough.

And she is ill. Actually ill this time. Physically. 

He is so pleased. He hums. He kisses her before he leaves. He rests his hand on her belly and then she knows. She thinks she will vomit all over him. What has he done to her? How could she let him---why didn't she know? 

"You will love me now," he says, so sure of himself.

No, she won't. Never again, she thinks.

And then he is gone. He is off to the Deep Roads to find his horrible brother and she is left alone in their rooms, no better than a prisoner. She does not want to carry his child. She does not want to be his wife. She does not want to feel his touch ever again.

She sits and when the room stops spinning she tries again to master Sylaise's magic. Over and over and over, she tries. The hours pass and the poor maids find her food untouched. She doesn't stir for them. She doesn't care.

Let them fuss, she thinks. Let them fear Falon'Din's wrath. And then she is ashamed because this is not their fault and they do not deserve his wrath. 

And then she does it. Something clicks and she can feel the whole of her magic. Hers not Sylaise's. Hers now. And she knows. It is not enough to stop him. 

She has failed again. 

She thinks maybe she should just throw herself out the window. It's high enough she would die. It would be better than an eternity of this.

 

He is furious when he returns. Dirthamen is gone. Stolen away from whatever rock he'd been stuffed under. She is glad. Even if it means one more spoiled piece of shit elvhen false god is wandering the world unchecked, it is better he is wandering far away from here. 

Anything that sours his mood lifts her spirits. 

He takes her against the wall. And he bends her over his desk and takes her again. And then again in their bed before he finally calms enough to sleep. He doesn't notice anything. He doesn't really see her. 

Another good thing, she thinks. 

"I may kill them anyway," he says, "If they are to blame. Somehow, I think they are." 

She doesn't have to ask who he means. She knows. Sera. Mahariel. Fenris.

"Do that and you lose any leverage you have over me," she says.

"As if I need leverage now," he says. 

He rests a heavy palm on the swell of her belly. Still small enough it goes unnoticed. 

"I will never love you," she says, and then she laughs. It is rich and full and she can't stop. 

"You will," he says. He kisses her to stop the sound of her laughter. 

He leaves again the next morning. He doesn't know when he'll be back. He's following another trail, another lead. She hopes he never comes back. She hopes he gets himself killed.

But she is lucky.

Cole finds her. They leave before he returns. 

They steal back her horse. Hers. Poor, angry, frustrated Griffin. He has torn his stall in the stables apart, over and over and over again. She overhears talk of banishing his spirit and burning the host body and she is more angry at that than anything else. 

That they would dare. She does not feel bad about running now. She doesn't care what he does to them when he returns to find her gone. They would have killed Griffin and he is a wonderful soul. He denied death to fight by her side. 

He does not deserve to be destroyed. 

It is good Cole found her when he did. She doesn't know what she would have done. She doesn't. 

Cole hides them and they ride right out the front gate. 

 

It is the worst ride of her life and it seems to go on forever. She is ill and she can't stand the feel of Griffin or the smell. She can't stand her own smell. She can't stand anything.

She wants to sleep. 

She is afraid to sleep.

They are somewhere in Orlais before Falon'Din realizes what she has done or that she's even gone. His people were too afraid to tell him. She feels a pang for them because they are probably already dead---or they wish they were.

He finds her in her dreams and he is terrifying.

"Where are you?" he asks, "If you return now, I could be moved to show mercy to your...friends."

Lies. So many lies. 

She snarls, "I'd rather die."

"Never," he says, "You will never be allowed that escape. I will find you, vhenan, and you will regret this. I promise you."

"Come home," he says, "Willingly. I will forgive you."

She laughs until she cries and she feels like she's losing her mind. Forgiveness? Why would she need it from him? Why would she want it?

She will never go back.

He does not care for her answer. Every night, he tells her. Every night. Solas truly is gone.

She has lost him. 

It would have been better if she had died when the Veil fell. She wishes she had. She wishes she still could.

 

Fear spikes when she sees the smoke of the campfire. But when she gets closer, she sees the familiar faces. She recognizes them.

Sera. Mahariel. They are here. Fenris. Velanna. Zevran. And that is all. She doesn't see any of the others.

But there is Merrill. At least, she thinks that is Merrill. She isn't sure. There is something different. 

She is not the same. 

She is not...herself. Lavellan can tell, even from a distance. The threads of magic inside her are orange. They are bright like the threads in Falon'Din. 

Her heart is racing.

They are alive. That is all that matters.

She dismounts and then Sera is hugging her. She doesn't realize Cole and Griffin are gone until she turns back. She starts to say something. She looks up.

Gone. He has left her again. She is alone.

"What happened?" Sera asks, but she can't tell her. She can't talk. She can't breathe. She can't think. She shuts her eyes and just holds on.

"He isn't Solas anymore," she says at last, when she can pull away. That is all she can say. Don't ask, she thinks, please. 

"No shite, we heard," Sera says, "He emptied Hunter Fell. He took everyone. Got most of our people. The Wardens are dead."

She isn't surprised. 

"The slaves," she says.

"Who is he then?" Merrill asks, "If he isn't the Dread Wolf?" She doesn't know that accent. She can't place it. She doesn't like her crooked smile, the curiosity in her gaze.

The sound of it chokes her. She can't answer. She can't tell her who.

"I don't know," she says, "Something else."

Merrill doesn't believe her.

"I think you do know," Merrill says, "And you are afraid."

"I don't care what you think," she says, "And who the fuck are you anyway? You're not Merrill."

And Mahariel is shifting, uncomfortable. He is grinning---sort of. 

"We found something interesting in the Deep Roads," he says.

And when he tells her, she laughs. She laughs and laughs and laughs. it isn't funny but she can't stop. She is glad she didn't tell them about Falon'Din or the baby or any of it. And she will not. 

She just wants to forget. She tries to, but later, Fenris pulls her aside and he says thank you. Of all the things. 

"Thank you," he says, "You sacrificed yourself to save me. I know I haven't always been---I haven't made it easy for you, but what you did...I will never forget. I am grateful."

He smiles and she is struggling just to breathe. If she had to do it all over again, knowing what she knows now, she isn't sure she would make the same choice. He would not be so kind if he knew.

"You're welcome," she says, finally, but he isn't. She can't say anything more. She doesn't recognize the sound of her own voice. She leaves him standing there, staring after her, and she can't look back. 

She just might hate him. 

 

Dirthamen---because it is clear Merrill isn't in control---teaches her spells each evening when they stop. So many spells. He gives her several languages. Tevene and Elvhen and a few she doesn't know the names for. She needs to learn everything she can. 

And she does. 

But then Fenris pulls her aside. Again. And Velanna follows. 

"Help her," he says, "That's not Merrill."

She knows. Hadn't she already told them?

"How?" she asks, because Dirthamen may as well be a god. What can she even do?

"I don't care," he says, "Whatever you have to. Something. Anything."

"Fix her," he adds. 

He seems to think she can do something, and that is almost funny. His faith in her is misplaced. She can't do anything. She doesn't know how, and the one thing she could try, the one thing she would have thought she could do, she has already tried on Solas. She failed and made everything so much worse. 

She looks at Fenris and then Velanna and she doesn't know how to tell them that. 

She can't do anything right. She is Failure.

"He is right," Velanna says, "We have to try. Please." 

"If you don't do something, she is lost," he says, desperation creeping in to his voice. His fear is overpowering. 

There is something about Fenris that makes it hard for her to refuse. There is something about him that makes her want to help. She is foolish. Silly.

So she tries. She uses the anchor and she pulls and pulls until something splinters. The thing inside Merril breaks but only parts of it come loose. She struggles to hold it, but she can't.

The pieces of it latch on to Mahariel's strange sword. Merrill is herself again, but there is a shadow inside her. The shade of Dirthamen. It burrows inside, too deep to catch. Eventually, just like Solas, she will lose herself again. 

There is nothing else Lavellan can do. It is up to Merrill to fight, for as long as she can. 

"You can try again," Sera says, in a tone that promises pain if she refuses, "Til you get it right. You get that demon out of her and you get it all." And Velanna agrees.

"We'll find a way," Velanna says.

No. She feels so sick. 

Not all of it is morning sickness.

 

When she sleeps, Falon'Din finds her. Always. Every time. She wishes she could stay awake forever.

"Come home, vhenan, I am worried about you," he says, "I am worried about our child."

"You are a monster," she says.

"I am your husband," he says.

"Not by any choice of mine," she says, "I owe you nothing. I hope you die."

He twists the Fade. He shows her terrible things. He shows her what will happen to her friends. He shows her everything. 

Every night.

She wakes screaming. She feels hands on her arms, shaking her. She doesn't recognize the voice that tries to soothe her, remind her it's all just a dream and she's alright. Fenris' voice, she realizes, but he is wrong. It isn't just a dream. She's awake and everything is still the same. 

And then she has to explain, think of a lie, a half truth they will believe

Fenris doesn't. And Sera doesn't either. They see through it even when the rest of them believe her. She doesn't want to talk about _him_. Or anything. 

The splinter of Dirthamen sinks deeper into Merrill. 

She is afraid to touch it. 

She can't stop thinking about her failure. The moment Solas died and Falon'Din took over. It can't happen again. Not to Merrill. Never to Merrill.

"Something is wrong and you have to tell us," Fenris says, "You have too much power. Anything could---"

Zevran makes a strange noise. It is high pitched and half strangled.

"I think that's enough," he says. She can't interpret the look he gives Fenris, but it makes her uncomfortable. 

"No, it's the truth," Fenris insists, "If she loses herself, she will be a danger. We will---"

"You will stop talking now," Zevran says, "Trust me, my friend. You are doing yourself no favors."

He recoils. He scowls. He sits off by himself and sulks. He mutters in Tevene about corruption and mages and she pretends she doesn't understand a word of it. She still doesn't understand why he can't just let her be. She is too angry to think about it. 

Later, Zevran brings her a cup of bitter, terrible tea and she pretends it is wonderful 

When she does try to pull the shard of Dirthamen out of Merrill, the damn thing fractures again. It is the anchor's fault. It is not what it was. It is too hard to control. There is no finesse. But the pieces of Dirthamen keep getting smaller. Every time she tries she gets a little more of it. 

Maybe it will be enough. Maybe Merrill will be able to handle what little remains.

She hopes.

Morrigan finds them. And she is the one who figures out how to handle the problem.

"Tis simple," she says, "As you helped me, I will help Merrill. We both will. Together, at least, I think we may pull the last pieces out of her." She looks at them both with sympathy. Lavellan can't stand it.

She knows what Solas is and what he ha done. She has sensed it. And she sees in Lavellan what the others have missed. The look on her face, the sweep of her gaze as it drops over her, says it all. 

They pull the last of Dirthamen out of Merrill.

They do.

And the fragments are so small they are insignificant. Too small to put in Mahariel's sword or anything else. Those pieces are snuffed out. Lost. Destroyed. It almost makes her feel better, knowing Falon'Din will never find his brother. Will never reunite. But it is not enough revenge to suit her though. He hurt her. 

She will not feel safe until he is smashed to pieces so small he will never pull himself back together again. 

 

They are ambushed by children while they sleep. Living, breathing, actual children. Children who survived the fall. It is impossible but here they are, all the same. They are too thin. Starving. And so very angry.

She understands.

She shares their rage.

Zevran brings her another cup of the same hot, bitter tea. He smiles and sits beside her while the rest of them argue.

"We can't leave them here," Merrill says, and Mahariel agrees.

"Pfft. Where are we supposed to take them?" Sera asks, "What one of his cities?"

"Of course not," Mahariel says, "Don't be ridiculous."

"It's not ridiculous," Sera snaps, "Where? Tell me one good place that makes sense."

"I don't know. Somewhere," he says, "You don't want to go to Tevinter anyway. What's the problem? I'd have thought you'd be happy for the change of pace."

She makes a rude noise.

"What, so we're slow enough to catch?" she asks, "No thank you."

The children don't appreciate any of this. They want to stay. They were doing just fine on their own, thank you very much. 

"We do ok without you people," one of them says. 

"Yes, you do, if you mean you enjoy slowly starving to death," Velanna says.

Lavellan does not want to walk them back to civilization. Hunter Fell is gone. Kirkwall is gone. Cumberland probably isn't safe either. What is left? Solas---no, Falon'Din's city? That would be a terrible mistake. 

And she is not up to all this walking. She is tired. She is sore. She is so sick to her stomach she can barely keep anything down. The others will notice soon enough. 

And he will find her. He will take her back and it will be worse than anything she can imagine.

"So yeah, any ideas?" Sera asks, "Real ones?"

"You're the one with all the fishy contacts," Mahariel says, "You tell us."

The face she makes is not pretty. If Lavellan was Mahariel, she'd be a little afraid. She takes another sip of the terrible bitter drink and pretends it has honey in it. 

 

Merrill and Morrigan fly the children to Ghislain. There is a Red Jenny safe house, of all things. There are a few Jennies there who will take care of them. They will have food. Shelter. They will be safe. And best of all Solas---Falon'Din doesn't know of it. 

The rest of them continue on but they are all worried. Every minute they are apart, there is a chance something terrible will happen. 

If they don't find horses soon, she doesn't know what she'll do. 

"You look terrible," Fenris says. 

She ignores him as best she can. It is none of his business. 

He doesn't like that. At all. 

"You're not eating enough," he says. And why is he fussing? What does he care? They aren't friends. He tolerates her. Barely.

She tries to walk ahead, but he matches her, step for step. His damned long legs make escape impossible. He is not even tired.

"I'm not hungry. Go away," she says.

But it is another lie. She is hungry. She is so hungry it hurts but the second she smells food her stomach rebels. And she will not waste what little they have. 

"I don't understand why you have to be so stubborn," he says.

"I don't understand why you have to be so nosy," she snaps.

Zevran intervenes again. Gods bless him. She would kiss him if she could stand it.

He shoos Fenris away, and he gives her his share of the dried, crusty bread---to settle her stomach. He makes her more tea later. If she didn't know better, she would think he knows. But this is Zevran. He is not that perceptive.

She hopes he isn't. 

Now, though, she isn't sure. She looks at him and his overly friendly smile and she doesn't really know him well enough to guess.

When Morrigan returns with Merrill, they know. They have to split up. If they are going to fight the Dread Wolf, if they hope to beat him, they can't waste time. 

Mahariel will go to Tevinter for Elgar'nan's orb and Velanna will brave the Anderfels for Andruil's. It is the only way. And she is surprised. Zevran is not going with Mahariel. 

"Are you sure?" he asks, and he sounds a little hurt. 

"I do not want to go to Tevinter," he says. He shrugs as if it can't be helped. 

"Me neither. Not doing it," Sera says. And neither is Merrill. 

She is disappointed because she is going with Mahariel. She was hoping for Zevran or Sera to join them. One of them at least. She is surprised Zevran is refusing. 

Fenris does not look pleased. He doesn't want to go to Tevinter either, and she doesn't know why he doesn't refuse. He doesn't want to help. He doesn't have to help. He barely likes any of them. And she knows. He doesn't like her. 

"Someone has to be the voice or reason," he mutters. 

Yes. Well.

She doubts it will be him. 

"Don't look at me like that," he says. And it is her turn to scowl. He doesn't get to tell her how she can look at anyone. If she wants to glare at him, she will. 

But none of it goes the way it's supposed to. They turn in for the night. They plan to leave at dawn, and it all goes to shit.

 

Falon'Din doesn't come to her, and that should have been the clue. She wakes to shouting. She hears horses, hooves thundering towards them. And there is a hand, pulling her to her feet. 

Morrigan has just enough time to transform. She takes off. Mahariel catches a hold, pulls himself up, and then Sera is shoving Merrill up after him. There is no time to save anyone else---the rest of them scatter and she can't count how many soldiers she sees. He has brought so many. 

She can't breathe.

This can't be happening. 

It can't be real.

Sera and Zevran seem to vanish. Velanna casts a storm spell that swirls around the horses, obscures their vision, spooks them. Then, she's gone too, and Lavellan is left running, still clutching the hand that woke her. 

Fenris, she realizes. 

She casts Pull of Abyss behind them, to buy some time, but she can see _him._ She can see the look on his face and she knows. He's already won. He is coming.

One of the enemy horses skids past. It slows, confused by Velanna's storm. She almost panics when Fenris lets go of her hand. But then he's swinging himself up on its back. She casts Pull of the Abyss, and then he's pulling her up behind him. He spurs the horse on, he sends it into a run.

She hears Falon'Din scream her name.

His eyes are too bright. They are flooded with light but he is too far away and the horse is sprinting fast from the cold. All she can do is try to hold on. She is shivering, shaking, and it's not from the cold. 

She will not go back.

She will die first.


	15. AOF: They Will Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They run and he is close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for Noncon.

They don't talk. She doesn't know if the rest of them made it but she hopes. Desperately hopes. It is a shame they have to stop and sleep because Falon'Din is close, so close she can sense him, but the horse can't run forever. 

When they do stop, Fenris looks at her like this is her fault somehow. 

He pulls trail rations out of the saddlebags and counts them out. When he passes her a share---a dry hard cracker and a bit of jerky---she thinks he's going to say something, yell at her, snap. Anything. He doesn't. His jaw is tense and his shoulders stiff. It reminds her. They aren't friends.

So he was just pretending, she thinks, all this time he was tolerating her. For Sera's benefit. For the others. She tells herself it doesn't sting. It can't because she shouldn't like him.

But she isn't fooling herself.

It stings. 

She didn't do this. 

"Eat," he says. He catches her staring at the jerky because she is considering stuffing it back in the pack and pretending. The cracker is fine. She can eat that, but the taste and the texture of meat is still repulsive. 

She doesn't want to explain why.

She makes herself choke down the cracker, but that is all she can handle. She puts the jerky back and he makes an exasperated sound.

"That's not nearly enough," he says.

"I'm not hungry."

He shuts his mouth and she can tell he doesn't believe her. It's none of his business. He doesn't really care.

This is not her fault.

But it is.

Falon'Din wouldn't have come for them if not for her, if she hadn't joined them. They'd still be together. It _is_ her fault. 

They can't build a fire. They can't risk it. When the air starts to cool, he finds a thin, worn blanket in the supplies and tries to drape it around her shoulders. She doesn't know why it makes her angry, but it does. 

"Don't," she says, "I'm fine."

He throws up his hands as if to say he tried. He huffs a little and settles down with his back to her. He sleeps an arms length away. Somehow, he does, and she envies him. 

And she jumps at every sound, so sure they're about to be discovered. She hates that she's afraid.

 

She dozes a couple of hours before dawn. She is alone and it is quiet, peaceful, and then it isn't. The Fade shifts and he steps out of the shadows. His armor is sharp edges. It is unfamiliar. It is silver and white and there is so much blood.

"Do you love _him_ ?" he asks. His voice is like venom.

She doesn't know who he's talking about. She doesn't love anyone. Not anymore. She can't even remember what it feels like. He has stolen that away.

"Who?" she asks, but he's catching her by the chin, tilting her head back, silencing her with a kiss.

He bites her when she won't open her mouth for him. He stains his teeth with her blood.

"The mongrel," he says, "Your Tevinter slave. Do not pretend you don't understand."

But she doesn't.

"I can just imagine how much it will hurt to strip the lyrium out of his body," he says, "And then I will cut out his eyes just for looking at you." 

And then he shows her. He shifts the Fade. He makes her watch. He makes her see. Not Fenris. No. He can't, she thinks, and it makes her sick. No matter how hard she tries to banish the image, she can not. She sees what he will do, what he promises to do. 

She has never seen anything so terrible. 

"Fenris is just a friend," she snaps, as if it will convince him, as if she even owes him an explanation, "Why would you think---" She is glad she is not awake because she would not be able to---she just couldn't. And Fenris is not a friend. He isn't even that. He's just the man who got stuck with her. He should have left her behind.

"I will do far worse than that if you lay with him, vhenan," he interrupts, "Do not test me."

She knew he was mad, but this is beyond that. He is jumping at shadows. He is looking for a reason to rage. And that is silly, because if he wants to be angry, she'll be glad to give him real reasons. She has plenty to choose from. 

"Fenris is not my lover. We tolerate each other," she says, "That's all. Not that's it any of your concern."

"You are my wife, everything you do is of my concern," he says, "You will not pollute yourself with another man's seed."

He is beyond disgusting. She is beyond angry. She wants to burn him. She needs to. But she doesn't know how. 

He tears the neck of her shirt. He rips it all the way down and then the metal of his gauntlets is scraping her skin. He is hurting her. He is enjoying it. 

She hates him. She hates him so much.

 

When she wakes, she is under the damn blanket. Fenris is already awake and tending to the horse. She was angry before, but now, she is furious. 

She throws it at him. It hits him in the back and then he's turning, looking at her with narrowed eyes.

"When I say I don't want it, I don't want it," she says.  


"You were shivering," he says.

"I don't care!"

He shakes it out and rolls it up and the look on his face is murderous.

"Fine," he says, "Next time, I won't bother."

"Good," she snaps.

But she wants to cry. She can't look at him for very long because she keeps seeing the nightmare Falon'Din showed her. She sees empty eye sockets and blood. She sees the scars. She sees---

Just being here with him is putting him in terrible danger.

It hurts to breathe. To think. And she misses Dorian so much right now. He would know what to do. 

She is responsible for anything that happens now. Because she knows. He has told her what will come. He has made himself clear.

'What is it now?" Fenris asks because she is still looking at him, at the line of his shoulders, his neck, the lines of lyrium curving on his chin.

He does not deserve Falon'Din's attention. 

She gets up, brushes herself off, and she is not going to tell him. He makes another frustrated sound. She tries not to care

"You should try to find the others," she says, and she will be fine on her own, "There has to be a safe house or a meeting place---"

"We have to get as far away from here as possible," he says, "They will likely still try to reach the Anderfels. We might be able to intercept them along the border. Maybe Nordbotten---"

"Good," she says, "That's good." 

He looks at her strangely when she opens the saddlebags. She starts to separate some of the rations and then he understands. He grabs her wrist and then he's prying everything out of her hands.

"No," he says, "Stop."

"You'll get there faster without my weight slowing you down---"

"I said no," he snaps, "Soldiers are likely still in the area."

"All the more reason," she says, but she is afraid. She doesn't want to be caught but it is better than---at least, Falon'Din won't hurt her, not really. Anything he does to her will heal, but what he'll do to Fenris, to any of them---she can't live with it. 

She can't. 

But he's stuffing everything back in the saddle bags and tying it shut. He's glaring at her. 

"You're not this stupid," he says.

"Fenris," she says.

"No. Enough," he says, "The matter is closed. We will not speak of it again."

But she can't help but think they're making a mistake. 

The patrols drive them further north. She loses track of how many times they have to stop and hide or tear across the plain at breakneck speed. She loses track of how many times they are almost caught. 

She is afraid for Sera. And Zevran and Velanna. She knows. He is still here, still searching for her himself. He thinks it's just a matter of time.

And maybe he's right.

Fenris doesn't talk. 

He broods. She is almost glad for it and what does that say about her? She prefers the tense silence to small talk. She would rather not speak at all if the alternative is answering unwelcome questions. 

 

"I'm sorry," Fenris says. 

It is sudden and unexpected and she is glad she can't see his face. Her arms tighten around him, reflexively, and she has to make herself relax.

"Why?" she asks.

"I know you're ill," he says, "I haven't been---I'm sorry. Tell me if you need...I...we'll stop when you need to stop. Just tell me."

"Please," he adds, and he sounds---she doesn't know how he sounds. He is nervous and it is strange.

But she isn't ill. She's fine. 

"I'm---"

"Don't say you're fine," he snaps, "I know you're not."

The silence doesn't feel good. It feels heavy. She wants to fill it with explanations but she doesn't dare because then she will tell him everything. 

She doesn't want that. She doesn't want to say it. She isn't ready.

"Thank you," she says, instead.

Some of the tension goes out of his body and he sighs. She shuts her eyes. She tries to pretend things are going to be ok. And it almost works. She rests her head against his back and he is real and solid and here. 

He is not going to hurt her. 

She doesn't know what she's doing.

 

When they stop, there is a stream and a pool deep enough for bathing. It is too late in the evening and she can not stand the smell of herself or him. She strips out of her clothes and wades in waist deep and she doesn't care.

She is Dalish. There were many times her clan had to forgo modesty for cleanliness. 

She doesn't worry about Fenris until after she dunks her head under the water. She doesn't even stop to think that she could be making him uncomfortable. But when she comes up for air, she sees him disappear under the surface.

He is practical, she realizes, and that is a relief. She can not handle fussy shem sensibilities right now. They are both adults. They can bathe without making an issue of it.

She scrubs as best she can without soap. 

She feels almost like a person again. Almost. The water is cool and wonderful. It smells earthy but clean and it makes the thought of getting dressed horrible. Her clothes are filthy. They stink of sweat and horse, and if she's dares to be honest, the tiniest hint of urine because her bladder has been doing terrible things lately. Terrible, horrible things. It is beyond embarrassing to have to stop every few hours and run to whatever cover is available just to pee.

She is trying to decide whether or not to rinse the shirt and pants, at the very least, when she hears the sharp intake of breath.

She looks over her shoulder and Fenris is staring.

"What?" she asks. Her stomach twists.

"I didn't realize you had---you have vallaslin," he says, "It's his."

Oh.

That. She sucks in a breath and lets it out slow, tries to stop the spike of anger. He has seen enough of the design on the faces of Falon'Din's soldiers. Of course he would recognize it. Of course.

"It is," she says. And then she does dunk the shirt. It's the worst of the two. She can't put it on unless she does something about it. She just can not. She won't. And then she'll work on the pants.

She wishes she had soap. 

"I thought vallaslin is supposed to mark your face," he says.

"It is," she says, "I had mine removed." Just stop, she thinks. She doesn't push him for details about his past. He should give her the same courtesy. He should. 

"Oh." He sounds confused and she is getting angry again. 

"I don't want to talk about it," she says. She can't keep the steel from her voice. He already knows what it is and why it's there. He can't say he doesn't because she can see it on his face. 

She had forgotten about it entirely and now he has ruined it. The markings are there and the monster who put them there is hunting her. She is his. She is a thing. She is. She is.

None of it is right.

"They're are new," he says, and his voice is too soft. She hears something like sympathy there. And she does not want his sympathy. She ducks under the water and waits as long as she can. She hopes he gets the hint. 

He does. When she surfaces, he is getting out. He is pulling his pants back on and that is just fine. She doesn't want to talk. 

 

She hangs her shirt and pants to dry and she is wearing only her under things. She shakes the blanket out and spreads it over the hard packed earth. She is not letting him guilt her into taking it. They can share it or he can use it but she is not keeping it for herself. 

He is frowning when she finally looks at him.

"We can share," she says, and that is all there is to it. 

He is not happy but he settles with his back to hers. It doesn't do much to chase the chill from the air but it is nice all the same. She is wide awake for what feels like hours but she knows that much. She falls asleep faster next to him. She feels safer. Somehow. And that is very is very silly. She isn't really any safer. 

Falon'Din finds her and he is in a peculiar mood.

"You aren't well, my love," Falon'Din says, and his voice makes her shiver, "You aren't eating enough. Think of our child."

She can't think of anything else it seems. She can't stop no matter how much she wants to. It is an innocent and it does not deserve to have a father such as this. If she is still alive after it is born, if it makes it that far, she doesn't know what she'll say. How can she even hope to explain? 

_This is not your fault, da'len._

"Come home," he says, "I have finished the nursery." And she will burn it down around him. She will laugh. 

"My child will never see it," she says. Cassandra would have run him through a thousand times over for what he has done. If she were here. If only. She wishes she was as strong as Cassandra. She wishes. 

"Our child. Ours," he says, "Stop trying to hurt me. It won't work."

She flinches when he touches her face and he looks hurt again. She feels like she must be losing her mind because he should not be surprised. He is horrible and he knows this. He knows she can't stand him.

"I want only you," he says.

He hurts her again. He pins her under him and he does not pretend to be gentle. He doesn't hold back. He pulls her hair. He tears her clothes again. He bites her shoulder again---if they were in the waking world, she would scar. 

"I hate you," she says. She pushes him away and she hits him and then he is is clawing at her, hissing in her ear. 

"I love you," he says. Over and over again.

It is hard to remember this is just a dream.

She wakes to vomit. She stumbles and she isn't as quiet as she'd like to be. She hears Fenris stir but she's emptying her stomach and she doesn't care. She just wants to get up and away before she ruins everything. 

She can still feel his hands on her skin. She can feel him inside her.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. She pretends Fenris hasn't followed her. She pretends he's not there, staring.

She is fine. There is nothing wrong. 

Nothing at all.

"Ellana," he says, when she stands, when she tries to walk past him, "Please."

"Just a dream," she says, "Go back to sleep." Please, she thinks, please.

She is glad he doesn't touch her because she doesn't know what she'll do---she can't stand the thought of it, not yet. 

"How bad is it?" he asks, "What did he do to you?"

There is a tremor. He doesn't want to know. Not really. Or maybe he already knows.If Varric's stories held any truth, he knows too well what powerful men will do, he knows what they are capable of. She can't meet his gaze. There is something there and it is too much.

She doesn't want to tell him. He will just look guilty again and she'll have to explain how this isn't his fault. She is too tired. Much too tired. She can't comfort herself, how could she even try to comfort him. She won't. 

She smiles and it throws him off. He steps back.

"I'm fine," she says, "It was just a bad dream."

He is not convinced.

"This is my fault," he says, and she can't stand the sight of him. He looks broken, shattered, "If you hadn't gone back to him to save me---" He doesn't even know. Not really. She can't tell him now. He will look at her and it will be so much worse. 

"Don't."

"I'm sorry," he says.

"I said don't," she snaps, and she regrets it because he is trying to help. He wants to. He does.

She lets out a long breath and he is still staring at her.

"He wants me to come back," she says, "He won't stop until I do."

"You can't help me," she continues.

She has never seen him look so sad. 

 

She stays awake as long as she can. She doesn't want to sleep. She doesn't want him to find her again. She has had her fill for the night. For the rest of her life, to be honest. If she never sees him again, it would still be too soon. 

And then Fenris is muttering in his sleep. He is twitching. Dreaming.

It is not a good dream.

"Fenris," she says.

She doesn't want to touch him, but when he doesn't wake, she does. She just sort of pokes him and he shifts, restless. His face is twisted up. He is in pain. She hopes Falon'Din hasn't found him, but she doesn't know. It is the kind of thing he would do.

"Fenris," she repeats.

She touches his shoulder. She shakes him. She is worried.

And he grabs her throat. He shoves her back and she would be screaming if she could breathe. She gets a flash of Falon'Din, the memory of his own hand on her throat, shoving her back, shoving her down and it hurts. 

She hits him. She does. And then, she is going to burn him but he lets go, his eyes too wide. He lets go. He scrambles back. He is horrified.

"Are you ok?" he asks. He looks away, "I'm sorry." He is fighting for breath, but he is struggling. He is shaking. 

She doesn't know what to say. She doesn't know if she can say anything. Her heart is racing and she can't really make her eyes focus. She feels like she's back in Skyhold or Falon'Din's fortress. She keeps thinking she'll hear _his_ voice.

"I'm fine," she says, "I couldn't wake you." Her voice breaks and she is embarrassed. 

"It was just a dream," he says, and he lets his gaze flick to her face. His expression is dark because it is the same thing she said earlier. It is just a dream, but it isn't. He wants it to be, but it isn't. .

"Do you want to---" Talk about it, she means to say.

"No," he says. He snaps. He hunches his shoulders and wraps his arms around his knees. He stares into the ashes of the fire. 

"I'm sorry," he says again.

So is she.

It takes her ages to fall asleep again. And when she does, she is back "home". She is in Falon'Din's rooms and he is there, waiting again. He cups her face and kisses her. And she is going to scream because this makes twice in one night.

She is going to cry.

He crowds her back against the wall and he breathes against her lips. Not again, she thinks. Please, not again.

"I wanted to show you the nursery," he says, "But you are being so stubborn. You keep running away."

She tries to push him away but he presses against her. He closes the spaces between them, she can not move him. She can't.

"I don't care about your stupid nursery," she says. Or you, she thinks. 

"How many will have to die before you come to your senses?" he asks.

Her voice dies because what can she say to that? Who has he killed? Who? She hasn't seen Sera in too long. What if...what if...? She is shaking and he notices and he smiles.

"I can not stand this separation," he says, "Come home. I want to hold you. I want to feel you. It will be alright."

"I want you to die," she says.

"Fenris will die," he says, "It will be a better fate than he deserves."

Her breath catches. He rubs against her, his erection already so hard. She knows what comes next. She knows. She wants to burn him. She needs to, but this is the Fade, and he is a god here. It is his realm. She is just a silly woman. 

She is nothing. 

"Why are you jealous of him?" she asks. She tries to pretend. She tries to blot everything out but she can't. 

She can't read his face and he stares and stares and she is uncomfortable. He kisses her again and when she tries to turn her head away he follows. 

"You can still save him," he says when he finally breaks, his lips still brushing hers, "Come back to me."

"I will let him go," he says, "You know what you have to do." And then he's easing her pants down over her hips. He's touching her and he won't stop.

But he is lying. He has already decided. He will kill all of them and he will make her watch. 

She wants to die.

 

When she opens her eyes, something is different. Her breath rushes out and she knows. They are not alone.

She sits up. She elbows Fenris and she is ready to run, but they are surrounded by horses. Fenris curses and he doesn't move but then---then she sees who it is. 

These are not Falon'Din's soldiers. 

Sera drops in front of her, grinning. Zevran is there too and Velanna.

"I know, right? Surprise," Sera says, but Lavellan doesn't answer. She's launching herself at her, arms wrapping around her neck.

She is embarrassed because she is sobbing into Sera's neck and Sera is laughing. They are ok. They aren't prisoners. They aren't dead. They aren't worse. 

"Where the void have you been?" she asks.

"Us? Where were you?" Sera asks, "Took us days to track you down." She pries Lavellan's hands free and looks at her.

"Hey," she says, "It's ok. No one died. We're all here. We have all our bits."

For now, she thinks, for now. 

"How did you find us?" Fenris asks.

Zevran laughs.

"You are not very good at hiding your tracks," he says, "We had help. A strange little man with bad hair and a fabulous hat." 

Sera snorts, "He means Creepy. He wasn't the worst he's been, but whatever."

She means Cole. They mean Cole. He's alright, she thinks, and he's helping again. He helped them. 

"You're lucky it was us and not Shithead," Sera adds, "You're shit at hiding your tracks."

Fenris makes a rude noise, "Forgive us for being in a bit of a hurry."

"You did fine. Don't listen to her," Velanna says, "We're just glad we found you first."

"Want to come with?" Sera asks.

No. She doesn't. She wants to hide somewhere far, far away, but she knows. They are safer together. She will not stay behind. 

"Where are you going?" Lavellan asks.

"Weisshaupt," Velanna says, "I doubt he'll think to look for us there. And there will be plenty of supplies. Weapons at least. You could use another staff."

She is right.

They break camp and ride and it is easier to smile now. It is so much easier. There is only Morrigan and Mahariel and Merrill to worry about. And what little she knows of Mahariel tells her she has no business worrying about him. Falon'Din will regret even trying to capture him. 

And it will be glorious. Leliana always said he was remarkable. She said he was a terrifying contradiction. He would smile. He would laugh. He would strike and no one would even know it was happening until it was too late. Leliana called him horrifyingly lucky. She hopes that luck holds.

"How are you doing, my friend?" Zevran asks. He rides alongside her and Fenris. She will never understand how he can be so relaxed, so happy. He is the like a ray of sunshine, parting the clouds in a storm. 

"Fine," she says.

He looks at her like she has just told him she can live perfectly well without a head. 

"What?" she asks.

"Oh my dear, Ellana, you are a terrible liar. Almost as bad as Fenris, and that takes some doing," he says. And then Fenris is listening. Grumbling. He shifts in the saddle and shoots Zevran a dark look.

And Zevran is talking about---maybe he's talking about the baby. If he knows. And she thinks he might. Her face is too warm and she is going to pretend she doesn't understand him. There are too many people here. And all of them are listening. A little too intently. 

She won't have that discussion here. Not while she is still riding behind Fenris. He can hear everything.

"I don't know what you mean," she says. She insists. Tries to. 

"It is unimportant, my dear. We can't all be beautifully deceptive," he says, "Anyway, I have liberated a few things from the dear Dread Wolf and his people. I thought it would please you."

To steal from him, yes. Oh yes.

He tosses her a small bag, and when she looks inside, there is no doubt left that he does know. There are peppermint leaves---more than enough for tea---and hard, dry crackers. They are old remedies for this, for morning sickness. He knows and he knows that she knows. He winks at her when she looks up, surprised, and he pulls his horse ahead to ride alongside Velanna. He whistles and she can't even be alarmed that she has been found out. He is kind. She doesn't deserve kind.

She wonders how Mahariel and Morrigan and Merrill are faring. She hopes they are well.

"What did he give you?" Fenris asks, his voice low.

"Tea," she says. She tucks it in to one of the saddlebags. 

"Oh," he says. His voice trails off but he sounds like he's muddling through a thought. She lets it hang there. If he wants to talk more, he can use his words. He can. She will not go fishing for the rest of it.

Velanna doesn't really know where they need to go. That was Merrill. They are lost without her. And the Anderfels isn't small. After Weisshaupt, they will stall. Because where can they go next? Where can they even hope to look. 

She misses Cole. She wishes he was here because she thinks, maybe, he would know what to do.

She misses Griffin. She is tired of riding behind Fenris. She is tired of fighting with him. 

 

There is a settlement and it is going to rain. It is small. There are no people, no survivors, only houses. Only a few overgrown gardens and they can restock some of their supplies. They actually can.

Lightning splits the sky though and the horses are nervous. So they stop. They take them into the barn and feed them and water them and leave them safe and secure for the night. The rest of them seek refuge in the largest house.

There are no bodies inside, but she sees something suspiciously like one outside, in the garden. They will have to dig another grave, she thinks. 

And thunder is rumbling overhead.

Velanna clears the table---it is piled high with dirty dishes and odds and ends. Zevran and Sera sort through the food supplies and start dinner. Fenris shuts the windows and busies himself setting pots and cups around the upstairs to catch the leaks. The roof is in need of repair, but they will not be here long enough to tend to that.

Lavellan shakes out blankets and hunts down enough bedding for all of them. If they have to stay, they can at least be comfortable. Then, she makes her own tea and sips it while she waits for the horrible smelling dinner to cook. But it is doing her stomach no favors.

After a while, she gives up and goes upstairs. She lights the candles and picks through the small collection of books, hoping to find something to take her mind away from things, but she finds nothing she hasn't already read. There is nothing here that will help.

So she sits. She thinks about things she shouldn't. She doesn't want to cry but she is a mess today. She doesn't know why. Doesn't want to know. 

She can't do any of this.

She starts to doze. She starts to fall asleep, but then she wakes. Someone is scooping her up off the floor. She is drowsy, not fully conscious, doesn't really know where she is...not enough to say anything. But they shift her onto the bed and draw a blanket over her. And it is wonderful. 

She thinks she is in her own bed in Skyhold for a moment and she doesn't remember the world has ended.

She catches their hand as they start to pull away, because surely, this is Solas. If he's in her room and it's this late...he really should come to bed.

But when she opens her mouth to speak, it hits her. All at once. The bed is wrong and lumpy and it doesn't smell like her bed. His hand doesn't feel like Solas' hand. She is not in Skyhold and everything is as bad as it can be. Her voice comes out a whimper. She is pathetic and this is stupid, she thinks. 

The hand squeezes hers.

"Food is ready, but if you want to sleep---"

Fenris. Of course. She sees him when she opens her eyes and he has that strange look on his face again. It is something like an uncomfortable concern. It is awkward. 

She does not want to sleep. And she doesn't want to eat. She wants to go back to the moment when everything was fuzzy and she felt ok, but she knows. She can't go chasing after it. It won't work. She sighs and sits up and she is still holding his hand. She doesn't want to let go.

She does.

"Thank you," she says, yawning.

"I can bring you something to eat if you'd rather stay here," he says.

She is nodding before she can stop herself.

"Ok," she says.

And he is smiling and it is genuine. All she can think, though, is how Falon'Din is going to hurt him. She keeps seeing his face, she sees his lyrium tattoos turned to angry scars, his eyes...lord, his eyes. Falon'Din can never find any of them. He can't. 

She picks at her food when he brings it. She doesn't have an appetite. 

 

She misses Merrill in part because she thinks if anyone could find a way to keep an intruder away from her in the Fade, it would be her. She is tired of being caught by him. She is tired of hearing his voice, feeling his touch. 

He shows her his horrible nursery and new toys and pretty, tiny outfits. He means for their child to be the most expensively dressed child in all of Thedas. It is foolish to waste so much fine silk.

Someone has carved elaborate owls into the crib and the ceiling is a perfect replica of the night sky. The walls are a forest and there are so many animals.

There is a rocking chair, also beautifully carved and cut. More owls. So many owls. The cushions are soft and plush and any other time she would be pleased to know it was meant for her. But he did this. Falon'Din. It is another gift from a monster.

He is proud. So very proud.

"It is all for you, ma sa'lath," he says, "I wanted to finish it with plenty of time to spare. There is still so much to do."

"Where are you?" he asks.

His smile is chilling, "It is no matter. I will find you soon enough. The People are eager to return you to your rightful place. Now that our joyful news is beginning to spread, they fear for you just as I fear for you."

She can't talk. Not while she's surrounded by all of this. He has told his People. They know. 

"The only thing to be afraid of is you," she says, "I'm not going back. I will never." 

The nursery is horrible and he is horrible. Her child will never sleep here. He will not have the chance to ruin this baby. He will not. Never. No.

He smooths the hair back from her face, his touch feather light and spidery. She is going to scream. She is going to scream and she is never going to stop.

" I will find you and we will be a family," he says, "You are the only one who can understand. You are the only one like me. We belong together, vhenan." No, they don't. She might have belonged with Solas once, but he isn't Solas. This isn't Solas. 

"I'm never going back to you," she says, "I'll kill myself before I let that happen."

He looks worse than if she'd struck him. His face twists. He is hurt and horrified and the thought of her death seems to have done something to him. He has convinced himself he does care. And she is afraid because if he truly does believe he loves her, what will he do to bring her back, to find her? He will tear the world apart if there's anything of Solas left inside him. There isn't enough of the world left to survive such a thing. 

"If you harm yourself, you harm everyone you call friend," he says, "Because I will hold them responsible."

He whispers, "I will kill them all and I will find away to bring you back to me."

"Just leave them alone. Let me alone," she says, "Why can't you just---"

"You know why," he says.

"You don't love me," she says, "This isn't love."

"It is the greatest love," he says, "You are everything. And I will not let you slip away."

'I am going to kill you," she says.

And he laughs. He laughs and he laughs and he laughs.


	16. AOF: The Great Divide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is not what she once was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for noncon

She thinks it's Zevran at first because he's the only one who knows. She finds a new blanket---very small, very soft, the design is very Dalish---tucked in her bedroll. She finds a tiny shirt folded in her pocket. She finds another in the saddlebag. 

But Zevran isn't the one leaving presents. He looks just as confused as she is when he finds a tiny nightshirt laid out by the campfire.

She is lucky he was the one to find it because a few minutes more and Sera would have seen it. There would have been questions.

"I think this is meant for you," he says, "This is all very strange."

It is Cole's doing. Somehow. She feels a pang because she should be glad he's back to helping again, but she isn't. She's annoyed. She wants him to stop. 

But he doesn't. 

Fenris finds the next gift, a tiny nug made out of lustrous cotton. It is soft and carefully stitched. He looks dazed when she finds him holding it, confused. It's as if Cole has been here and made him forget. But of course he has. Of course he would.

"I'm supposed to give this to you?" he asks, "I can't remember why..."

She takes it from him and he wanders away. She is going to have words with Cole when she finds him. If she finds him. 

 

But gifts from Falon'Din are worse. So much worse. 

"I have something for you," he says, and he rests his hands on her shoulders, his forehead against her cheek, his lips moving against her skin, "My wife should have her own lands. She should have her own place. Her own people."

She doesn't like how it sounds. Her own people. Her own lands. Even if she could trust it was an innocent gift and not something truly horrible, she can't trust it would really be hers. 

It is not an innocent gift. He is incapable of such a thing.

"What have you done?" she asks.

He pulls back just enough to look at her. When he smiles, his jaw looks too wide, his teeth too sharp.

"Let me show you," he says. 

No, she thinks.

But the Fade shifts and he has outdone himself. The ruin is familiar---it is one she's seen before but it has been restored. The stonework is pristine. It is exquisite. There are new statues and wall hangings. If she pretends they aren't images of the two of them, she can almost stand it. If she doesn't look too closely. 

He has built her a castle but it is not really hers. It is his and he is pretending. It is just another cage.

And this can't be what is making him smile like that, she thinks.

A castle is innocent. It is just a place. 

"There's more," he says, "So much more." He touches her again. He kisses her. He breathes. 

"Would you like to see them?" he asks.

Her breath hitches and she says no. She does, but he isn't listening. He never does. He shows her the people, so many people, and he has marked them all. Their vallaslin is a variation of his but it is different.

She knows what it means. She knows what he has done in her name and she is horrified. 

"Do you like it?" he asks, "I designed it myself. For you, ma sa'lath." No, she thinks, no.

She doesn't want to look. She doesn't want to stare too closely at any of the faces because what if she recognizes them? She can't risk seeing Dalish or Loranil or Skinner. Or anyone else. What will she do? What can she do?

But she does look. How could she not? She has to know. She has to. 

"And these are yours too. All of them. They are waiting for your return," he says, "This is all for you, vhenan." She doesn't see familiar faces but it doesn't make her feel any better. He can't really think---he can't mean---

"They're people," she says, "They aren't things. You can't do this---"

"Come home and rule them," he says, "Your People. They need you, vhenan. Would you really leave them to my tender care? What did you call me? A monster?"

He laughs.

He laughs.

And she wakes, her stomach heaving, aching. She almost doesn't make it to the bushes in time. She empties her stomach.

What has he done? Why? 

She sits with her elbows on her knees and her hands pressed against her eyes. But then, there is a hand on her back and she doesn't know how she stops her self from screaming. She looks and Fenris is staring at her, his eyes unreadable. 

"Do you want anything?" he asks, "I could try to make tea." Of course, it is Fenris' watch. It must almost be morning, she thinks. It seems he always finds her when she's like this, when Falon'Din has done something horrible. It's as if he knows, as if he can sense it.

"He has taken more slaves," she says, and her voice sounds dead.

"You're surprised?" he asks.

"He is giving them to me," she says,"As if I would ever---as if I could---" And the sound Fenris makes---she doesn't want to hear it. He is angry and horrified and here, with her. This is her fault and he knows. 

She doesn't think there's anything left in her stomach, but there is. It comes rushing up and she is almost choking on it. 

"What am I supposed to do?" she asks.

He doesn't answer, but she hears the sharp intake of breath. She hears his footsteps move away. She hears a rustling. She hears the pouring of water. She hears him cursing again. He doesn't answer her and she can't blame him because what can he say? It is horrible. She is horrible. 

She should try to get a little bit of sleep before they have to go. She knows. And she has almost worked up the nerve, but then, Fenris touches her back again. He sets a cup down in front of her and it looks and smells very strange.

Even after all that, he made her tea. He is repulsed. He must be. But still. What is she even doing here? 

"I tried," he says. And then he's sitting by the fire, staring into it.

It is supposed to be tea, but it is disgusting. She drinks it anyway. She drinks it all.

 

They are almost to Weisshaupt when it happens. She can see the fortress in the distance, but it is not close enough.

She is fine and then she isn't. The pain is sharp, sudden, and she can't disguise the breath that escapes her. She starts to double over, but they are riding and Fenris is too close.

There is a flicker of light under her shirt. She sees Falon'Din's sigils and she recognizes them as the same ones he drew on her in blood. They are the same. Exactly. 

They are warm. Almost hot. They lessen the pain but only for a moment.

"Ellana?" Fenris asks, he tries to turn, to grab her arm, but she is slipping.

She starts to fall, but Velanna is there, a hand darting out to steady her. Her eyes narrow and she reminds Lavellan of a hawk about to seize it's prey. 

She tries to breathe. She tries to force the pain into the background.

"It'll pass," she says, she tries to say. But she can hear the lie. They all can. She is not fine. This will not just pass. Something is wrong. 

"We're stopping," Velanna says, "Get her off that horse. Now, Fenris."

She tries to protest because they are already so close to their destination, but another spike of pain steals her voice. When the sigil's flare, the pain lessens again. It feels like magic. No, it is magic. _His magic._ Another one of his safeguards. He probably put it there to stop her from trying to end the pregnancy. She wouldn't be surprised. 

Fenris helps her from the horse, easing her down until she is sitting, and all she can think about is the baby and Falon'Din and what will happen if...if...And Fenris' breath catches. He is staring at her. He sees the flare of light through her shirt. They all do.

"What the void is that shite?" Sera asks. 

"Magic," Vellana says, and she is at her side, a hand hovering over the glow. She is sensing, feeling it out, sending her own magic against it, "Modified wards maybe? I'm not sure. I haven't seen anything like it." She starts to lift the edge of her shirt. She sees. Her breath comes in sharp and she drops the edge. She looks at Lavellan and then she's shooing everyone away.

"What's wrong with her?" Sera asks, voice rising. Lavellan hears the note of panic. It makes it all worse. She is afraid. This hurts too much and she is afraid. 

"Get the tent up, now," Velanna says, she snaps, "I need space and Ellana needs privacy. What are you standing around gawking---get to it."

"Is it bad?" Lavellan asks, but it comes out through gritted teeth. She sits back. She lets Velanna ease her onto her back. 

"I don't think so, but we're going to have a discussion," Velanna says,"Try to relax. Breathe and---Fenris, help Sera with the tent now or so help me god---"

She doesn't want to lose this baby. She doesn't know why she doesn't, but it is true. 

Velanna casts her own healing spell, to aid whatever Falon'Din put on her. After a moment, the waves of pain start to ebb. It doesn't go away completely. There are still odd little twinges, but she can breathe again. She doesn't think she's bleeding. 

When she tries to sit up, when Fenris and Sera get the tent up, Velanna puts a hand on her chest, stopping her. 

"No," she says, "Fenris, Zevran, one of you, please carry her."

"I can---"

"No, you can't," she snaps, "Today, please."

It's Zevran who volunteers. He sort of elbows Fenris out of the way, and gets an arm under legs and another around her back. He lifts her like she weighs nothing and she is struck by the thought she has lost too much weight. 

She hadn't realized. She hadn't even noticed.

Velanna holds the tent flap up and waits. Zevran sets her down gently and then Velanna is shooing him out. She sticks her head outside and Lavellan can hear her shouting at them to go away. To give her space. To do something useful. 

"You're not going any further than Weisshaupt," she announces. 

No. She is. She most certainly is going further than Weisshaupt. But when she opens her mouth, Velanna cuts her off. 

"No," she says, "Unless you want to lose this baby, and then, by all means, continue on as you are."

She doesn't know what to say. She doesn't. 

"You should have said something sooner," Velanna continues, she sends another wave of healing magic through her, "There's nothing to be ashamed of."

But she's wrong. There is. All of this, everything---this is her fault. If she knew, if they knew, they wouldn't be so kind to her. They wouldn't let her stay. They wouldn't want her here with them. They would give her back. 

"It's Falon'Din's," she says. Her voice is a whisper but Velanna hears. She expects her to lash out, to rage at her, but she doesn't. She stops, she looks at her and her face is a mask of pity. It is worse than being yelled at. It is worse than being blamed. 

"Oh, lethallan," she says.

She is going to cry and she is not going to be able to stop. It was bad enough that Zevran knew. But now that Velanna knows, everyone is going to know---she can't because it means all of it is real. All of it happened. 

This isn't just a bad dream.

"Don't say anything," she says, "I don't want to talk about it. Please don't. Don't tell them." She's going to be sick. 

She can tell Velanna is bewildered. The look on her face says it all. 

"But we have to talk about it," she says, and she sits back on her heels, "We have to decide what to do. We have to divide the group. We have to---"

"No. I don't want to yet. I'm still going with you to Weisshaupt. We can do this there," she says, and suddenly, it is all that matters. She just needs more time, just a little, "Please. I can't yet. It wasn't---he did this to me. It wasn't my---I didn't want this."

And now she is done. She can't say anything more than that.

Velanna sighs. She tries to smile. She tries to tell her everything is going to be fine. Another lie. It won't be fine. It can't be. 

"Weisshaupt then. You can tell the others or don't. Ultimately, the only people who need to know will be the people who stay with you," she says, "Try not to worry. Rest. But if I catch you up and running around, I will incapacitate you."

"The baby seems fine for now," she adds, her voice low, "But we shouldn't risk it. Healing isn't exactly my area. I don't recognize this spell and I don't know how much it will heal before the charge is exhausted."

She pats her shoulder and it is awkward.

 

She sleeps and then she knows. Whatever magic that was, it did not go unnoticed. Falon'Din felt it. Because he is here and he is afraid.

"What happened?" he asks, "Please. I'll come get you. Let me find you."

She feels like she's slowly losing her mind. Every time she's with him, he makes her question it. He can not be serious.

"I'm fine," she says,"We're both fine."

"Something happened. Don't lie to me about this. Don't you dare."

He is mad. Completely.

"It's your fault. You're doing this to me," she says, "The stress you've caused---"

"I'm trying to give you the world. The only stress is of your own doing. I would take care of you. I would. If you would only let me." No. Never again, she thinks. She would gladly die before she goes back into his _care_.

"You hurt me," she says, "Over and over and over again." He hurt so many people. He has forced them into slavery. He has marked them and he has done it in her name. He is worse than Solas every could have been. She knows now why he sealed the gods away. If only he'd left Falon'Din in his hole. If only. 

And Falon'Din is furious. She knows that look and she flinches. She expects him to push her down, to take her again, but he holds back. He stops himself. He touches her face. He tries to calm himself and it is terrifying.

She is going to throw up.

"I would never hurt you," he says, "Never. Come home. For our child's sake. Do not let your anger get in the way. Do the right thing." When he kisses her, it is all she can do to keep from hitting him, because she knows where that will lead. 

"When this is over," she says, "You'll be dead. This baby will never have to know you. They will never have to look at you."

That is too far and he has had enough

"When this is over," he says, and he is forcing her legs apart, he is wedging himself up against her, "You will love me."

No, she thinks as she shuts her eyes, she will not.

 

The short ride to Weisshaupt is excruciatingly slow. Velanna insists. Fenris sits behind instead of in front. He gives her the saddle. He acts like she's made of glass, like she's going to break.

She hates it.

She hates it so much.

No one says much and Lavellan keeps catching them looking at her, she sees their concerned stares. All of them. She hates that too. 

Weisshaupt is old and ugly and empty. It is strange it hasn't been looted, she thinks, but then a ghostly sentry appears and it calls to them. It is cryptic and severe but Velanna responds in kind and it disappears. 

"Warden secrets," she explains and she is rolling her eyes, shaking her head.

Lavellan means to disappear for a while, to avoid the discussion Velanna thinks they need to have, but the moment her feet touch the ground, they are on her. They are fussing. They are infuriating.

"No," Velanna says, "Off your feet---"

And Fenris is picking her up and it is worse than she thought it would be. Her face is too hot. Everyone is looking at her. She is embarrassed. She likes the feel of his arms around her. She does. There is something wrong with her.

Zevran and Sera stable the horses and Velanna leads the rest of them inside. There are chairs in the main hall. There are a few tables. Velanna stops at one of them and Fenris lowers her onto one of the chairs. And this is absurd. Sitting isn't going to make a bit of difference. If she is going to lose the baby, she will lose it. There will be nothing they can do.

"Don't look at me like that," Velanna says, "It's not my fault you pushed yourself too hard."

She is not happy.

And Fenris is scowling.

"Yes, about that," he says.

Velanna looks at her and she shakes her head.

"We've come to an agreement. She's not well enough to travel," Velanna says, "She'll have to stay behind."

"That's not what I meant," he says, and then he's bristling, "What's wrong?"

"If you need to know, you'll know," Velanna says, "Just, relax. I don't want you upsetting her." 

"You don't want me upsetting her?" he asks. He steps back. He looks insulted. Offended. He is angry and he has too many thoughts on where Velanna can shove her opinions.

"Oh for---not you specifically," Velanna says, "It's more of a general---oh never mind. Just stop. I promised I wouldn't say anything. If Lavellan wants to tell you, she will. And don't pester her about it."

But Lavellan thinks she should tell him. It's a simple enough thing. Just a few words. He'll understand. After everything he's done for her, it seems silly not to say it. She can't keep it to herself forever. She wants to but she can't. 

Zevran understood. And so did Velanna. Maybe he and Sera will too. Maybe she's making a fuss over nothing. Maybe she's being foolish. She is so good at that lately.

Maybe.

She takes a breath and then Sera and Zevran are dropping their gear on the table.

"Why the faces?" Sera asks, "What did we miss?"

"She's staying behind," Fenris says, "It's a big secret. They won't explain." And he is offended. He is hurt. 

"What? Really?" Sera starts to laugh but then it dies, "No. Not really. That's not funny."

No. It isn't. It was easier to hide when she was on the move. Now, she doesn't know. If Falon'Din decides to look here, what can she do? She won't get far. She won't have a chance. 

"I can't go with you," she says, "I'm---sorry."

Sera doesn't like it. She goes tense and her face scrunches up---she looks at her like she's trying to put the pieces together, like she's still coming up short. She can't blame her. It doesn't make sense.

"Why?" Sera asks, "Gotta be a reason? What did the son of a bitch do to you? Was it that weird magic? Some kind of curse?" And she has never seen her this angry. She probably already knows, she thinks, or she suspects.

Fenris snorts.

"Good luck getting an answer," he says, "If we _need to know_ , we'll know, that's all they'll say. We ride together. We watch each others' backs. I don't understand why that doesn't qualify."

But it doesn't make it any easier. It doesn't give her the right words to say. She feels bad enough about it without the guilt. Maybe she shouldn't tell him. Maybe she shouldn't tell any of them. This is too hard. It's always too hard. 

"We've talked about this," Zevran says, "About not saying ridiculous things. You're being an asshole. Please stop. I may weep."

"Could we not do this right now? We need to decide who's going to stay," Velanna says, "If anyone at all. One would be enough---" 

She doesn't want any of them to stay behind. She just wants to be alone. Maybe Cole will come. He is broken and horrifying but she knows what to expect. She won't have to explain anything.

"I'll be fine alone," Lavellan says, "You need all the help you can get." Because they do. If they hope to find Andruil's orb, they need Velanna. They need Sera and Zevran. They need Fenris.

Fenris makes a horrified sound. He looks at her like she's lost her mind.

"You're ill, too ill to travel, and you want to be left alone," he says, "No. That's insane."

"I'm not ill," she says.

"What are we even talking about then? You can't travel because...why?" he asks, "You're not making any sense. We're not leaving you here alone. What are you going to do if---if Falon'Din finds you?" His gaze flits away and he looks like he regrets even saying his name. He hunches his shoulders.

She doesn't understand. What does it even matter? He'll find her eventually. 

"Please, just stop," Zevran says.

"No, I'm tired of dancing around it," Fenris says, "He's hunting her. Do you really want to let him find her? Do you know what he'll do?" And now her stomach is in knots. It is twisting and hurting and getting worse.

It hurts to breathe.

"Calm down. You don't know---" Velanna says.

"I do know," Fenris says, "I know exactly what he'll do and I won't allow it. Whatever it is, whatever the reason, he did this. He's the thing making her ill. We're not leaving her behind. Not for a damn second."

And that's when it all falls apart. There is a lull. There is a break and she can't stop herself. 

"I'm not ill, I'm pregnant," she says.

And the silence that settles over them is heavy. She doesn't know why she said it. She wishes she hadn't. She wishes she could take it all back because the look on Sera's face is too much. 

"What did you say?" Fenris asks, horrified again. And the look on his face is worse than Sera's. She may as well have slapped him. She may as well have betrayed them.

"I said I'm pregnant," she says, and her voice cracks, "Are you happy now? With his child. Yes. His. I didn't have a say in it so don't like at me like I did."

"Is that what you wanted to hear?" she continues.

Her eyes are burning. She is going to cry and she can't get up and storm away. She has to sit here because if she moves Velanna will kill her. 

Maybe it wouldn't be so terrible. 

She could be done with all of this. Death is just an end. 

"I'm not talking about this again," she says. 

"Shit," Sera says.

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit," she continues.

"Yes, Sera, we heard you the first time," Velanna says. 

"I'm going to force feed him his own balls," Sera continues, "Through his eye holes. Twice." The image is not as satisfying as it should be because the thought of Sera getting that close to him makes her heart race. She wouldn't have a chance.

He'd hurt her. He'd kill her. He'd make them all watch.

"Enough," Velanna says, "Just. No. You're not helping."

"I don't know. There's a certain poetry to it," Zevran says, and then he takes Lavellan's hand. He squeezes it. He smiles, "It's going to be alright." But is it?

She doubts that. She doubts it very much.

And when she looks at the rest of them, she sees varying degrees of the one thing she didn't want. Pity. So much of it she can't breathe. She could handle their anger. But not this. 

And Fenris looks like the world is ending. He does.

 

They stay for a week. Velanna makes her keep off her feet---she puts her in the old First Warden's room. She buries her under blankets and pours more tea down her throat than she can stand.

She makes her stay there until the pain stops. They argue.

Endlessly, it seems.

Sera crawls in bed beside her. She puts her head on her shoulder and pokes her arm.

"Could have told me," Sera says, "You alright?"

"I'm fine," she says, but they both know it's a lie. 

"Is it weird yet?" Sera asks, "I heard it's weird."

"Yes," she says, "Pretty weird."

She nods as if it's as expected and then pats her on the head.

"Need anything?" she asks,"There's stuff for cookies, if, you know..."

Cookies won't fix any of it, but she nods because this is Sera. She wants to pretend. And then she is off and away and Velanna is going to be furious when she sees the state of the kitchens after hurricane Sera hits.

Zevran finds another toy nug. It's a match for the first one Cole left. But instead of lustrous cotton, it's Everknit wool. And the eyes are silver buttons stamped with the Grey Warden insignia.

"Do you need anything, my dear Ellana? he asks, and she wishes they'd stop asking. She is fine. She is well enough. 

"She needs to eat something more substantial than crackers," Velanna says because she hears everything it seems. She brings familiar smelling soup and Lavellan is struck by the memory of the last time she had this. The last time she was with Clan Lavellan, before the orb and Corypheus, before she left, that was when. 

And now she is homesick and she can almost hear Keeper Deshanna's voice. She can almost remember what it sounded like.

_You should take better care of yourself da'len_

"Drink as much of it as you can," Velanna says, "Please."

And Fenris makes himself scarce. She catches a glimpse of him now and then in the hall when her door is open, but never more than that.

She doesn't know what to think.

None of them really want to leave her, but they have to. They all know it. The week drags on and they put it off and it is dangerous.

"You can't stay," she insists. Because they can't. This is too important.

"I will be fine," she says. But will she? She doesn't know.

To be honest, she doesn't care.

But she is surprised because when they finally do leave, one of them stays. She expects them all to go, but here he is. And she is surprised she is surprised. He would be the one to stay. She should have known. 

Fenris stands beside her at the gate and watches Velanna and Sera and Zevran ride away. His face is clouded with irritation. He crosses his arms over his chest and just stares.

He is barely speaking to her at it is. He can barely stand her.

She doesn't understand him.

He shuts the gate and it's just the two of them left standing in the fortress. She doesn't speak, and for a while, he doesn't either. It is quiet and uncomfortable. It is almost painful.

But then he looks at her. He doesn't smile, but there is something in his eyes. It is a look that steals her breath away, and she wonders, has he always been this beautiful?

"It doesn't seem like it, I know," he says, "But I promise, you're safe here. I won't let him find you again." 

She wants to believe him. She does.


	17. AOF: We Aren't Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She starts to think things might be ok, but she's wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for Noncon

It is a long month. She is starting to worry Velanna and the others aren't coming back. 

Fenris sleeps down the hall but not well. He spreads a blanket on the floor and ignores the bed. It can't be comfortable. The floor is scarred wood. It is uneven and warped. 

She hears him shouting and she thinks they've been found. She thinks they're under attack. But there's no one here. He's only dreaming. 

He thrashes like he's fighting someone. He struggles. He whimpers as if he's in pain. He doesn't hear her when she calls to him.

When she wakes him, finally, he won't tell her what's wrong. He won't look at her.

"Why the floor?" she asks.

And he shrugs.

"You should go back to sleep," he says, "I'm fine." He ushers her out again and it is clear he is uncomfortable.

"You shouldn't be out of bed," he adds, but his heart isn't in it. His gaze has shifted inwards. He is thinking about something, someone else.

If she spends another minute in bed, she's going to lose her mind. 

She's going to hide in the library, but when she starts down the hallway, away from her room, she hears him. She looks back and he is following. He is scowling. He is annoyed.

"Did you need something?" he asks, "Go to bed, I'll get it for you."

"No, thank you," she says.

"I'm up now," he says, "It's no trouble."

"And I said, no thank you," she snaps.

She doubts she can lose him. When he makes that face, it means he has already made up his mind and he knows she's not going to like it. She doesn't need a nursemaid. Whatever this is, whatever nonsense he has latched on to, he can stop. 

The danger has passed. The baby is fine. She doesn't want to sleep.

"Ellana, please," he says, but he doesn't continue. His shoulders slump and there are dark circles around his eyes. He is weary and the angry mask he usually wears has none of it's usual steel. 

His eyes are bloodshot. 

He looks...sad.

Some of the fight goes out of her and she is not impressed with herself.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"Go to bed," he says, and his voice is low, barely a whisper, "Please."

It's the please that gets her. It is one of her weaknesses. An honest please. A soft voice. A hint of desperation. She could never resist when Solas said it like that. 

But she does not want to go back to bed. She is so very tired of the Fade.

"I won't be long," she says, as if she owes him an explanation, "I want something new to read." This is silly, she thinks. She doesn't have to explain. She is a grown woman and he is not her Keeper. 

He shuts his eyes and tries to breathe---the sound is rough, uneven. Shaky. 

"I'm not a healer," he says, "If something goes wrong, there won't be anything I can do."

And she is undone.

"Just this once," she says, "But this is the last time."

"Thank you," he says. He sounds terrible. She can't even muster up enough proper irritation, because the sight of his like this is so strange. 

"Whatever it is," she says, "You can tell me."

But he doesn't. He steers her back to her room, his hand on her elbow. He looks past her and through her but never really at her. This is Falon'Din's handiwork, she thinks, and she is furious. It is a long time before she can fall asleep.

 

"Don't you think this has gone on long enough?" he asks. 

Falon'Din delights in surprising her. Even though she knows he'll find her, he always does, he still manages to startle her. This time he's behind her, his arms coming up, catching her. She is stifling a scream.

And the world is burning again. He shows her the long dead, the people she failed.

She tries to pry herself out of his grasp, as she always does, but once again, he holds on. He breathes against her hair. He bites her ear. He rest a palm on her stomach---it is flat in the Fade, but he doesn't seem to care.

He hums with pleasure.

'I want to show you all the things I've done for you," he says, "Come home."

"Is Solas even still in there?" she asks.

He stiffens at the sound of that name. He takes another deep breath and holds it and she wonders if he's trying to control his temper. Wouldn't that be something? Falon'Din actually trying to hold back. No.

"Pieces of him, perhaps," he says, "But they are small and inconsequential."

And she believes him, because if Solas was still in there, he wouldn't allow this. He wouldn't allow any of this. He did not deserve to be torn apart by this monster. It is her fault. Hers.

He is broken but it is worse than Cole. At least Cole still exists. He is not small or inconsequential. He is not possessed by a nightmare. He is not hateful. Evil.

Her shoulders shake and it is hard to keep herself calm. 

"Fen'Harel is the real monster, vhenan. You should not shed tears for him," he says.

"He never enslaved my people," she says, "He wasn't a rapist. Who's the real monster, _vhenan ___?"

"It's you," she adds.

"You are my wife," he says, "Mine." And he is turning her, forcing her to look at him. She doesn't want to, but she does. She won't let him have the satisfaction of making her look away.

"Rapist," she says," Murderer. Thief."

"I am none of those things," he says. There is a crack there---in his careful veneer. It widens. His calm is breaking. It's just a matter of words, she thinks. 

"You are all of those things and more," she says, "This isn't your life. You should be dead. You never deserved a second chance."

His breath hitches when she smiles. She can hear the warning. Her mind is screaming at her to stop, to be quiet, to try to minimize the damage, but she hurts too much and she can't stand to look at him. She hates him. She hates him and she wants to hurt him the way he hurts everyone. 

He is wearing Solas' face and it is horrible. 

"Maybe someday," she says.

She touches his face and his eyes go wide. He leans into her touch. He grabs her wrist, he kisses her palm. 

"What is it, emma lath?" he asks. He looks so hopeful, so starved for this. He wants her to love him. He does. He craves it. She doesn't know why but he does and it is the only thing she has that will hurt him. 

She needs to hurt him. 

"Maybe someday," she says, her voice drops until it is just a whisper. He has to lean in to hear her, "I'll tell you what I did to your brother."

"He is small now," she adds, "And Inconsequential."

She laughs. 

He hurts her but she laughs. It is worth it.

 

There are overgrown gardens. Not all of them have been raided by rodents. She is in the middle of digging up carrots when Fenris catches her. His face goes scarlet. He is not happy.

"Stop," he says, "I'm certain Velanna didn't mean for you to be digging in the dirt."

She sits back on her heels and stares at him. 

"I'm pretty sure Velanna isn't here," she says.

He pulls her to her feet. He is gentle but his hands are rough, calloused. If she wasn't annoyed with him, the stern look on his face would almost be adorable. There are frown lines on his forehead, between his eyes. 

"I don't care. I'm here," he snaps, "Don't tempt fate."

"I'm fine," she says, "It's still early." She's barely showing. She won't lose the baby because she dug up a few carrots. He is ridiculous. She isn't really sure how he found her. Weisshaupt is massive and she has been very quiet.

"You were in bed for over a week," he counters, "You're supposed to be in bed now. You almost lost the baby." But that isn't true. _His_ magic stopped it. She doubts she could lose the baby if she actively tried---but she wouldn't. And he is right about one thing. She shouldn't tempt fate.

He is fussing over her and she isn't sure she cares for it.

He takes the garden fork out of her hands. He takes her place in the dirt and starts to loosen the earth around the carrots. Then, he pulls them out, one at a time. She watches and now she knows. She doesn't care for his fussing.

She's fine. 

This is fine. 

She isn't so fragile she can't dig her own carrots. 

"How many do you want?" he asks.

"Just a few more," she says. It is hard to keep her tone soft and even. She wants to yell at him, but he is only trying to help. He is being kind.

She doesn't want kind.

"You should sit down," he says.

"You should sit down," she snaps.

She regrets it, but then he looks at her like _that_. She does not need this much coddling. They are going to have to start thinking about storing food for the winter. She has never been very good at canning and the gardens probably don't have enough produce left to really matter. If they stay at Weisshaupt, eventually, they are going to go hungry.

"You're in a mood today," he says.

"I don't enjoy being idle," she says. She enjoys it even less when there are things she needs to be doing. They are wasting time.

"Well, don't take it out on me," he says, and he gathers the carrots and stands.

He's right. She is being...unfair. But so is he. She is not broken. He doesn't need to tell her to sit down. She is not a child. 

But he didn't have to stay behind. He doesn't have to be here. He doesn't have to help her. 

"I'm sorry," she mutters, and then he's walking. She protests, "Wait." Where is he going?

He ignores her when she holds out her hands to take the carrots. Because, of course he does. She is so hopelessly fragile she can't be trusted with an armful of carrots. He walks past her, toward the kitchens.

Now, who's being ridiculous, she wonders.

She should probably stop him because the well is out here and she's just going to eat the carrots raw. But he is moving too quickly. He is inside and halfway down the hall before she can even begin to think about catching up.

He stops in the doorway, looks to make sure she's following, and then he continues on. He puts the carrots on one of the tables and he's glaring at her again. He mutters to himself and then he's dragging a chair out and gesturing for her to sit. 

He must be joking, she thinks. She is not impressed. 

"It would make me feel better if you would sit," he says, through gritted teeth, "Please." And he is close to yelling at her. She can hear it in his voice. She can see it on his face. 

She sighs.

She sits.

"What did you want to do with these?" he asks, not looking the slightest bit appeased.

"I was going to wash them and eat them raw," she says, "You didn't have to take them all this way."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. He shuts his eyes. It looks like he's counting to ten.

"Why didn't you say something?" he asks.

"You were in a hurry."

She doesn't expect him to laugh, but he does. He laughs and he leans on the table on his elbows. He smiles and the corners of his eyes crinkle and the sight of him like this makes her breath catch. He should smile more often. He should.

"Yes, well," he says, still smiling. It fades when he catches her staring at him. And that's not all. She is leaning toward him. She is aching to touch him.

What is wrong with her? She jerks back.

"Are you alright?" he asks. He goes tense. He stands up straight. He starts to reach for her. 

She snatches a few carrots off the pile and avoids his grasp. Her face is too warm and she feels stupid. What is this? What's wrong with her?

"I'm fine," she mutters, "Thank you for the carrots." 

She almost trips over the table in her haste, but she leaves, and he doesn't follow. She is glad.

 

The library is underwhelming. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't disappointed. There are only a few shelves and the books are in terrible condition. 

The wardens don't even have the most basic of magic theory books, but they have all of Varric's Hard in Hightown series. Correction, she realizes as she scans the shelves again, they have all of Varric's books. All of them. 

But she is not in the mood for memories of Varric. She is not eager to torture herself. 

She avoids the catacombs. The smell makes her gag. Mildew and wet air, old rot and mold, dead flesh. It is cold and the tunnels wind around and around for miles. Another exit, just in case they're attacked.

The armory is cluttered with distracting, magical artifacts. Corrupted, mostly, by darkspawn magic and blood. Her own armor doesn't fit anymore and there is nothing shaped just right in the warden stores. It seems they didn't get many pregnant warriors or mages in their midst. A shame, she thinks. She would feel better if she had something stronger than soft cotton. 

She would feel better if she could have wine.

She would feel better if she could hear Dorian's voice. Even Solas. If she could hear Solas again. If she could apologize. She never meant for this to happen. 

Fenris finds her staring at a hideous statue of a griffin. He shoves another hot mug of terrible tea at her. His smile is a quick flicker. There and gone again. But it's nice.

"Thank you," she says. The tea is much too hot to drink. She blows on it a little. She takes a sip and she pretends it isn't too strong.

It really is though. 

She expects him to yell at her about being out of bed, but he doesn't and that is a relief.

"I found a deck of cards," he says, "I'm bored out of my mind. Do you want to play?"

She arches an eyebrow.

"Play what?"

He shrugs.

"Do you know how to play Wicked Grace? I'm rusty but I think you can still play with only two people," he says.

"I knew Varric," she says, "It would be impossible not to learn it. He was always trying to drag me into a game. He usually succeeded."

"Good. Then let's play," he says, "But go easy on me? It's been a while." He grins and she is struck by the thought she's about to be hustled. Six hands later, she knows she has been. He is not rusty. He's skilled. It doesn't even look like she has tried to put up a fight. 

He is smirking. Fenris. Smirking.

"Go easy on you, ha!" she says. She watches while he counts his winnings. It was no real loss. They had looted the Grey Warden vault. The money was useless. Just something to play for. He won all of it. 

"You said you knew how to play," he says. Clearly, she was wrong. 

Still, she laughs, because it is nice to see him relaxed for a change.

"I thought I did," she says, "But that was...terrible."

"You haven't played in a while," he says, "It'll come back to you." 

She would have liked to see him go up against Josephine, but the thought drags her back down. She misses her. She thinks she always will. Her smile falters and then so does Fenris'.

"You're sweet," she says, "But no."

Her stomach grumbles. It is later than she'd realized. Neither of them have even thought about dinner.

"You're hungry," he says, "I'm sorry. I didn't think---"

"I'm always hungry. It's not---"

But he isn't listening. He is tense and angry and nothing like he was just a moment ago. 

"I can make you something now if you'd like," he says. He knocks over the stacks of coins. They scatter across the floor. They roll under the tables and into the cracks in the floor. And he is cursing. The good mood is gone.

"It's alright," she says, "Really." because he needs to stop. Things were going so well. They can still go back to that. If he just stops. If he tries. 

"No, it isn't," he snaps, "I wasn't thinking."

She doesn't know what this is, but she doesn't like it. She catches his hand and the color rushes out of his face. He stops and he looks at her and it's like he has been caught doing something he shouldn't. It is strange. He is strange. This is strange.

"We were having fun," she says, "It's fine. You don't have to do everything." And she doesn't know why he thinks he has to, if he thinks he has to. He stayed so she wouldn't be alone, just in case. He didn't stay to turn himself into her servant. 

She wants him to smile again.

He sighs. He pulls away.

"I'm trying to make this easier for you," he says. The edge is back. He is trying not to snap at her, but he is struggling. 

"You are. This was nice," she says, "I haven't played anything in too long. I haven't had time to just have fun." Please don't ruin it, don't start a fight, she thinks. 

But when he bristles, it is hard not to respond in kind. It is hard to stay calm.

"I'll get you something to eat," he says. He is angry now. She doesn't know why. She doesn't understand.

"You don't have to do that," she says.

She starts to stand, but the look he gives her, the way his gaze snaps to her face, makes her stop. 

"I know I don't," he says, "Just stop. Let me do this for you."

"Please," he says.

The fight goes out of her. Why does it always have to turn into this, she wonders. Why can't they just get along? If he didn't want to stay with her, he shouldn't have. 

She would have been fine on her own.

"Ok," she says.

She settles back against her chair. She nods. The good mood does not return. She wants it to. Gods but she does. 

"I'm sorry," she says.

He won't look at her. He rustles around in the cupboards. He pretends he's not furious.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he says.

She did though. She did.

 

Tonight is the worst. Falon'Din has not forgotten about Dirthamen. He is in a rage.

She shouldn't have told him. She shouldn't have pushed.

He chases her. He makes her run and then he catches her and it is terrible. Over and over again. It feels like hours go by. Maybe they do. 

"I will take everyone away from you," he says, "Everyone. You will have no one, vhenan, but me."

"He was my brother," he says, "He was the other half of my soul. How could you?" The other half of his soul? That explains why he doesn't seem to have one, she thinks. He is broken. He is disgusting.

"With great joy," she says, "That's how. I would do it again. I would bring him back just so I could do it again. And I would make you watch."

She doesn't know why she can't stop talking. He is horrified when he hits her again. He is horrified and she loves the way it twists his face. What is wrong with her?

She laughs and there is blood in her mouth. 

"Something is wrong with you," he says, "What did they do to you?"

His touch goes soft. He cups her face and rests his forehead against hers and he is crying.

"I'll fix you," he says, "Whatever they did, whatever this is, I'll find away."

"You did this," she says, "Not them. You."

"Where are you hiding?" he asks.

She doesn't tell him but all at once the tension rushes out of him. He slides his arms around her and holds her as if she's precious. She is bleeding on his armor and white silks and it is his fault. It feels as real as it would in the waking world. He did this but he holds her like she's his heart. There is something wrong with her, but it is nothing compared to him.

"Sera will be first," he says, his grip tightens when she tries to push him away, "I'll cut off all of her fingers. She'll never touch another bow string."

"You'll try," she snaps.

"I'll give her to my soldiers when I'm finished," he says, "How long do you think a pretty little thing like that will last?"

She is going to be sick. She can't breathe. He knows and he's enjoying this. He is.

"I've never made anyone Tranquil before," he says, "I think I'd like to learn how. You have so many friends, emma lath, how many do you think I'll have to go through before I master it? I might let you keep Merrill if I succeed."

"She would make such an obedient slave, so compliant, so eager to please," he continues, "But I don't care for the Chantry Sun. I'll use my own brand. Perhaps I'll let you help me choose."

"I hate you," she says, "You won't touch them."

"It would be easier for them if you didn't hate me," he says, "If you love me, I might be moved to show mercy. I might forget the terrible things they've done."

He looks at her and he smiles. The terrible things they've done. Really. 

"You can't be serious," she says. She can't love him. She can't ever love him. 

He leans in, he brushes his lips to hers. He is still smiling. How can he? How? Nothing about this is right. She hears screaming in the distance. He makes her look. 

Sera and Merrill. Velanna. Fenris.

All of them. She is going to be sick. 

"Get on your knees, vhenan," he says, and he starts to force her down, he makes her legs buckle, "Convince me you love me."

"For their sake," he says.

"For yours."

 

She doesn't know where she is at first but there are hands on her arms, hauling her up. Fenris is here. He's whole. He isn't the twisted, scarred flesh she saw in the Fade. 

He isn't broken.

Falon'Din isn't here.

"You're dreaming," he says. His hair is mussed from sleep and he's only wearing the soft pants he sleeps in. He is bare chested and the sight of the lyrium, still bright on the broad expanse, is a small comfort. He is not scarred. He is not drained. 

"You're alright," he says, "There's no one here but us. Just you and me."

She can't speak. When he tries to pull away, she feels a spike of panic. She makes a wild sound. She holds on. She pulls him back. 

It hurts to breathe. 

"You're safe," he says.

But she isn't. He isn't. None of them are.

"Don't go," she says. And she sounds pathetic. Weak. She is so very small. _Falon'Din has done this to her._ He has turned her into this. 

She doesn't want to go back to sleep. She can't. 

"What do you want me to---"

"Stay," she says, "Please." 

But he looks mortified. Embarrassed. He looks like he'd rather be anywhere else. She is so selfish because she doesn't care. She doesn't want to be alone. She would rather he be uncomfortable. And what does that say about her? She is selfish. Foolish. 

She can't close her eyes. Falon'Din's face is there when she does. Fenris's face. Sera's. Everything she saw, everything he made her see, it's there.

Fenris settles beside her, too tense. He doesn't seem to know what to do with his arms when she curls into him, rests her head on his chest. She tries to touch the lyrium as little as possible, but there is so much of it. It is hard to avoid. 

He is here and he is whole, she tells herself. He is fine. None of it was real. Not yet. Not yet. 

"He's a monster," she says. She doesn't want to cry, but she is. She is shaking. She is struggling to breathe. 

Falon'Din is getting worse. She hadn't thought it possible. But he is. They have to stop him. Mahariel and Velanna can't fail. They have to find the orbs. It is the only way. 

Fenris rests a hand on her back. He doesn't speak, he doesn't ask her to explain. But really, it doesn't need an explanation. 

"I hate him so much," she says. 

'I'm sorry," he whispers. 

"I can't do this," she says.

"I'm sorry," he says again.

She thinks she dozes after a while, but when she wakes, she doesn't think anything else has happened. There are no new horrifying images in her mind. There's no whisper of his voice. Her heart isn't racing. She isn't fighting to catch her breath. She's still curled around Fenris, but he is awake and staring at the wall. 

He looks miserable again. 

She shouldn't have asked him to stay. She knows. He is uncomfortable and she has made him that way.

He looks at her when she shifts. He smiles. 

"How do you feel?" he asks.

"Better," she says. Lies. More lies. She isn't better.

And then she realizes where her hand is and that he's not wearing a shirt. She's touching his stomach. She is curled around him and he is half naked and she is terrible. She doesn't want to move. But she is embarrassed. 

"I'm so sorry," she says, "It was just a bad dream. I don't know why I---" she trails off. She doesn't let herself finish. She doesn't know what to say.

The smile slips off his face.

"We both know it wasn't just a dream," he says.

She shuts her eyes. She breathes. He is right. 

 

There is a night Falon'Din doesn't come to her. And then another night. He doesn't appear for three days. She wakes up and she feels almost good. 

She walks with Fenris and they make awkward small talk and everything is fine.

But it isn't fine. She should have known. She does now. 

She hears fighting at the gate. She hears shouting. She hears swords clashing. She sees the ghostly warden sentinels when she runs to the door, when she opens it, when she dares to look.

Her body goes cold. And she knows. She does. 

She sees _him_. 

Falon'Din.

He is here. He has found her. And she can't breathe. There is only the cold and a terrible pain in her gut. She knows what he will do to her. She knows what he will do to Fenris.

This can't be happening, she thinks.

They have to run. They have to. But they can't. She can't. 

Fenris grabs his sword and he seems to believe he has a chance. But all she can think about is the image Falon'Din showed her. His hollowed eyes. The scars. So many. She can't banish it.

"You have to run. Go to the catacombs," she says, because she can't move fast enough. She will hold him back. She will get him killed. She can't. She just can't. 

"I'm not leaving you."

His voice breaks.

"You have to," she says.

They both know it. She doesn't want to watch him go, but she has to. She can't let him stay. Not for her. Not for anything. She can't be selfish.

"No, out of the question," he says, "Absolutely not."

It hurts. It hurts more than anything. She doesn't want to go back. She doesn't. She can't stand the thought of him touching her again. And he will. He will take great pleasure in it. 

"Please," she says, "Run and don't look back."

He shakes his head. He grabs her arms and he is squeezing too tight. 

"There's time," he says, "We can make it. Stay close to me. I'll protect you."

But he is wrong. He can't protect her. She can't run and the warden sentinels are no match for Falon'Din. They are no match for his ancient soldiers. They are out of time. 

It isn't fair, she thinks. She can't go with him. If Falon'Din catches her, maybe he won't hunt Fenris. Maybe she can convince him not to---maybe she can save him. She can distract him. She can do whatever it takes. 

But she is going to be sick. She is shaking and this is not what she wants. 

She touches Fenris face and he shudders. He turns his face against her palm. He grips her wrist and he sighs. She will not let Falon'Din destroy him. Not for anything.

She doesn't stop to think. 

She kisses him. She angles his head toward her and covers his lips with hers. Her fingers tangle in his hair and the world shrinks down to just this. The softness of his mouth, the heat of his breath---him. There is only him.

Why did she wait so long to do this? They could have had a thousand kisses before, and now, it is too late.

She breaks before she's ready. He looks dazed. He is breathless. They both are. 

"No," he says, when she steps back. His face crumples. He pulls her close again. 

He kisses her. It is a hard kiss. It is savage and she feels his desperation. He doesn't want to let go. He struggles to hold on. He tries to pull her with him. 

But she can't. She just can't. 

"Run and don't look back," she whispers. She smiles, just once, just this last time, and then, she shoves him back inside. He can escape through the catacombs. They'll never find him in the damn maze of tunnels. 

"Ellana, no," Fenris says. 

He starts to lunge for her, but she blocks the door. She burns the ground. She burns the air, the space between them. She pours everything she has into it, and the heat is terrible. The fire spreads to the walls. It eats the wood. Fenris fights it. He does, but it is too much for him. He backs away. Finally, he starts to move.

She can't bear the look on his face, the hurt. So much. Too much. He wants to stay. He wants to fight, but if he does, he will die.

She runs. The fighting is already dying down. The last ghostly sentinel is making his stand. There are too many soldiers. She is not fast enough anymore, she can't hope to make it to the stables. But to buy Fenris some time, she tries. She does.

And then strong arms catch her, crushing her to an armored body. Lips press to her temple, her cheek, her jaw. She turns. A hand tilts her head back, fingers snag on her hair. It hurts but she barely feels it.

Falon'Din kisses her mouth. He steals her breath and he doesn't break away until she is lightheaded. He is here. She can't escape. He smiles. He does.

"Found you, vhenan," he says, his voice low, "Found you."


	18. AOF: What Conquerors Do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is a prisoner again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for Noncon, abuse, slavery.

He sits behind her on his hart, he keeps one hand on her belly. He presses too close, kisses her neck while they ride. He kisses her ear. 

His whispers are filthy promises. Everything he wants to do to her. Everything he will do.

He is too eager.

He is too pleased because he has been in her head again.

"For all your talk, you have remained faithful," he says, "Or would your mongrel not have you?" he laughs. 

"I will have you," he says, "In every room of our new palace."

She doesn't speak. She can't think about it. She can't let herself. 

"Where are your friends?" he asks, "Why did they leave you?"

Why won't he stop? She hates the sound of his voice. She hates the tone he gets. She hates everything about him. 

He already knows why they left. He knows and he delights in reminding her why she couldn't go with them, why she had to stay. 

He forces her head to the side. He grips her chin and he kisses her. He slides his hand up her belly. He palms her breast through the worn cotton of her shirt.

"You're angry with me," he says. He stops teasing her breast. He slides his hand back down. He looks amused.

He huffs.

"Ellana," he says, "This is silly." She used to love that smile, the quirk of his lip. That face. When he was Solas. When he was kind.

"I don't know what you want me to say," she says, she looks away, she fixes her gaze on a point straight ahead.

He sighs. 

"The healers have said you should start to feel movement," he says, "Have you?"

He rubs lazy circles over her the swell of her belly. She doesn't want to answer him at all, but the feel of his hand is making her angry. She wants to elbow him, shove him off the hart, but she wouldn't get far. 

Abelas is here with the soldiers. She is surrounded. And it would be worse. Once Falon'Din caught her again, and he would, he'd hurt her. He'd hurt them.

"No," she says.

"Good," he says, "I was afraid I'd miss it. I want to be here for everything." She feels him smile against her skin, his face pressed to her shoulder. His teeth. His tongue. His lips. 

"I want you to fall off this damned beast and break your neck," she says, "I want you to die. I want you to stay dead." 

"I want to come inside you again. It has been too long," he says.

She is going to throw up and the hart is going to panic and throw them both off. Maybe, if she's lucky, she'll land wrong and break her own neck. She won't have to worry about what he means to do when they stop for the night.

She catches Abelas staring at her, several times. She can't read his expression, but it isn't what she expects. There is no usual twist of disapproval to his scowl. This is different. It is softer. There is sympathy, perhaps.

He probably knows how Falon'Din took over Solas' body, she thinks, he knows how she failed. That would explain it. He had been Solas' friend. He is the only one besides Falon'Din, besides her with an unmarked face. The rest wear vallaslin. All his. 

"Stop," she says. She moves his hand away. She makes herself look away from Abelas.

"Why should I?" Falon'Din asks, "You are my wife. This is my child. I will you touch you as I wish, when I wish, where I wish."

"Because it's making my skin crawl," she says, "I can't stand the touch of anything there." A partial truth. She can't, but it is worse because it is him. It is always worse when it is him.

"A pity," he says, "I rather enjoy the way it feels."

"I look forward to seeing it, seeing you bared beneath me," he says, "You are so beautiful. I have half a mind to stop now, to take you in the middle of camp. Where everyone can hear us." She is glad he's wearing armor, because the way he leans into her is terrible. She knows him well enough to know he's already hard. 

She can't stomach him. This. It hurts. It is worse than the last few months of morning sickness. It is worse. So much worse. She will die if he touches her now, like that. She will find a way.

"You can't," she says.

"I will," he says, "So many times. Do you even know what you do to me? The way you smell, right now, the way you feel---I want you."

Her hands are shaking. She can't steady them and he notices. He takes one of her hands and brings it to his lips.

"What's wrong?" he asks, "Haven't you missed me?" She hears the warning in his voice. He wants her to say yes. He wants her to smile and bat her eyelashes at him. But she doesn't have the energy to lie. She has missed him like one would miss violent, explosive shits. She has missed him the way one would miss a gaping chest wound. She has missed him the way one would miss a gangrenous tumor on their asshole. 

"Vhenan," he says. Because he is reading her mind again. He can feel the full weight of her revulsion, and it is a small comfort. He disapproves of her comparisons. 

But that is too bad for him. This is her mind, and if she wants to compare him to a festering pustule in the anal glands of a mabari corpse, she damn well will. 

And he has already forgotten how close she came to losing the baby. If not for his magic, she would have. She feels him bristle. She feels the moment he remembers, because his hand settles over her belly again. She feels him press his forehead against her. She feels the ragged draw of his breath.

"You are right," he says, and he sounds contrite, "Of course, emma lath, we must wait until you're well. Forgive me."

No, she thinks, she will never forgive him.

"How do you feel now? Do you need to see one of the healers?" he asks, "Are you hungry?"

She wants to die, but she doubts the healers will allow it. She knows he won't. 

"I'm fine," she says. 

They pass through a dozen eluvians before they finally stop. She can't hope for rescue, because he closes each one behind them. There is no chance anyone could have followed them through. 

They make camp in an old ruin. He says it was one of Ghilan'nain's temples, but little that would identify it remains. They are surrounded by ice and snow and mountains----there are only enough provisions for the night and morning.

And he is eager to get her alone. 

She picks at her food and counts the seconds, her sense of dread growing. He has promised not to take her until she'd better, but they both know how much his promises are worth. He will take her when they're alone. She does not expect to get any sleep tonight. he is selfish. He is impatient.

She can't bear this. She can't.

But it is a small price to pay because Fenris is safe and they aren't hunting him. She tells herself that. She tries to believe it.

 

He lights a fire in the room he has claimed for his own. He strips her out of her clothes. He eases her onto her back he gets her legs apart. He kisses her belly. He murmurs soft words against her skin.

He touches her. She tries to stop him, but he takes what he wants. He forces himself inside her again. Worse, he makes her come. He seems to set it as his goal.

"Ar lath ma," he says. He doesn't shut his eyes, not once. He makes her stare into them, and he is so full of darkness, it is like looking into a moonless night sky. It is like looking into a dank pit, "Ar lath ma."

He says it over and over again.

She thinks of Fenris' eyes, his smile---rare though it is. He is beautiful. He is kind. He is not this.

Falon'Din spills inside her but he doesn't stop. He doesn't let her up. He gets a finger inside her and he continues until he's ready again. He keeps her on the edge, half mad, aching, and so close, always so close. He is starved for her, he says, they have to make up for lost time. 

She wants it to stop. She needs it to stop.

He pretends she is crying because she's happy. He kisses her tears. He smooths them away with the pads of his thumbs. She rolls onto her side, away from him, but he curls around her. He draws a heavy blanket over them. He rubs the backs of her arms when she shivers. But he doesn't understand. She is not shivering because of the cold. 

"We are almost home, vhenan," he says, "Soon."

She wants to die. She does.

 

She hates the way Abelas looks at her. She sees more sympathy. She sees more pity. She sees a stark, cold burning rage for a moment, but then it's gone and he is looking at Falon'Din, his expression vacant. She is not used to him looking at her with anything other than disapproval. She is not used to sympathy. Not from him.

She does not deserve it. 

This is her fault. She can't forget, no matter how hard she tries.

They ride. She endures the touch of Falon'Din's hand on her stomach again. She endures his breath on her ear. She endures his lips on her skin. And then they crest over the mountains and she sees what he has been so eager to show her.

The palace is unfamiliar. It was a ruin, now restored. It is white marble and gold. And when he leads her inside, she sees. The palace is decorated with the things he loves. With owls and shadows. With her. He loves her, and that is worse than anything else she sees. She can stand the sight of his arrogance, but not her own face. Not the portraits of her. Not her horrible face. She wishes she could burn them all, scratch out the eyes, tear up the faces. She wants to destroy every image of her. 

And more than that, the palace is choked with statues and tapestries and paintings of unfamiliar men. One of them is Dirthamen and the other is him, his real face, he explains. This is who he really is when he isn't wearing Solas. The man in the paintings is so different, but she would know the look in his eye anywhere. The arrogance. The ugliness. She would know him no matter what face he wore.

"Can't you change it?" she asks, "Do you have to look like Solas?"

"You prefer my real face," he says, and he misunderstands. He lights up. It isn't that she prefers his real face, she doesn't. She hates it. She hates him. But she would rather see him in another form. Not Solas'. Never.

He smiles. He kisses her hand. He places it over his heart and holds it there when she tries to pull away. He hasn't heard her. He hasn't pried into her thoughts. And she wonders. Is she starting to get to him? Is the steady stream of hate finally hurting him?

"There is a way. It is something I'm considering," he says, "Come, vhenan, you need to eat. You've lost far too much weight." He would rather believe she loves his real face than know the truth.

The table he takes her to is small and there are only two chairs. He sits beside her and his people bring food. There is too much meat. It smells too strong. It is all over seasoned and disgusting like everything else she's tasted of ancient elvhen fare, but he seems to like it.

His servants---his slaves--- have dead eyes. They are tired and hopeless. They are miserable. They hate him.

She hates him.

They probably hate her too. She knows she would. 

She picks at her food. She has no appetite. 

"What's wrong with it?" he asks, feigning concern, because he can't really care, "I'll have words with the kitchen if it isn't to your liking."

She doesn't like the way he says that. She doesn't like the way his eyes narrow, the way they darken. He would hurt them because she doesn't like the way they seasoned the meat. 

He is mad. Completely.

Her mouth is dry. Her tongue feels too thick, too heavy. It is hard to talk.

"It's fine," she says, "It's just the baby."

His expression softens. He almost looks like Solas again. And she can't stand it.

"Of course, vhenan, of course," he says, "It has been a long day. You must be tired."

She is. Of everything.

He folds his napkin and sets it by his plate. He pushes his chair back and stands and then he's taking her hand, pulling her to her feet.

"I'll have something brought to our rooms when you're feeling better," he says, "Come. Let me show you the rest of our home."

She lets him lead her through the halls. How could she not? There are so many people here, so many he would hurt to punish her. He knows her too well. He knows what she will do to spare them.

She wishes she had tried to run. She wishes she had trusted Fenris. Maybe they could have made it. Maybe.

And now, it's too late. She is here and she is trapped. She can't hope for rescue. She can't hope for Cole or Fenris of Velanna or anyone. She is here and she is alone.

He kisses her hand again.

His rooms are ridiculous. There is too much dark wood and gold and deep reds---it would be beautiful it they didn't belong to him. The windows are covered with heavy velvet. The light is dim.

There are two closets but they are more like full sized rooms. One for her and one for him. He has had clothes made. Dresses and pants and shirts in all sizes to accommodate her growing belly. He knows her favorite colors somehow. He knows the styles she prefers. He has put thought and care into everything. The gift is almost thoughtful.

If it wasn't from him, if it was from Solas instead, or anyone else, she would be grateful.

If he hadn't enslaved her people.

If he wasn't a monster.

"I can finally show you the nursery in person," he says.

But she has seen it in the Fade and it is the same. There is too much for one child. She has never seen so many strange toys and hideous outfits. There is too much silk. There is too much of everything. 

But the nursery is beautiful. She can't deny it.

He is so pleased. So very, very pleased.

 

She has been here almost a month. The baby kicks. It is more of a flutter really, barely noticeable. They are at dinner and there are so many people bustling around. One month and he gets what he wants. 

Suddenly, it's too real. It moves and she can't ignore it. She can't pretend it's just a bad dream.

He sits with his hand over the spot. He holds it there, too heavy and for too long, waiting for it to happen again and then it does. He is excited. Pleased. And this is horrible because he is acting like a proud father, but he is just a rapist. He is disgusting. He should not be allowed near anything small and vulnerable. 

"I can't wait to meet you, little one," he says.

And now everyone is watching. 

"Maybe you'll have your mamae's beautiful eyes," he continues.

Every time he says something like that, every time, she feels like she's going to lose her mind. She is going to scream because this is insane. He is insane. She doesn't want him. She doesn't love him. This is not a marriage and he is not the man she wants to be with. He has stolen this body. This is not his child.

He can't keep pretending they are happy.

"We should start thinking about names," he says.

But she doubts she really has a say. He'll take that away from her too. Just like everything. He'll likely name it something pretentious and twenty syllables long, honoring of his shitty brother. This can't be real.

He sighs.

"I suppose there is plenty of time, " he says.

"Maybe something to honor my brother," he continues, "If you had met in better times, you would have loved him too. You wouldn't have fought." Of course.

Better times, she thinks. And she is going to laugh. She is.

"I would have hated Dirthamen in any time," she says.

"Don't," he says.

"Just as I hate you," she says.

"Stop trying to hurt me," he says.

"I will never stop," she says.

He calls Abelas and makes him whip one of the women. He has her whipped and he doesn't let Abelas stop until Ellana begs him. Until Ellana apologizes. Until Ellana cries. And now she knows the real reason they're here, the slaves. 

"You will never disrespect me," he says, "You will never."

He has the woman carried out. Everyone sees. Everyone knows. 

"You will love me," he says, and then he has her again. He doesn't try to be gentle. He doesn't try to make it feel good. 

Ellana isn't going to survive this. _Him._ She can't stay.

When the woman heals, he gives her to Ellana as a present---to help her dress, to bring her food, to do stupid things she could easily do and should do herself. He gives her away like she's a thing. Like she has no heart or soul or mind.

The pale haired woman won't tell her what her name is but her accent sounds Tevinter. She says she doesn't have a name, she is no one. Falon'Din smiles and agrees. 

"She hasn't earned it yet," he says, "But she will."

And that is repulsive. All of this is repulsive.

"Slavery is wrong," she tells him, "You can't do this. You have to stop."

"She has a place now," he says, "A roof over her head and food in her belly. She's safe. She's better off."

"She isn't. No one is," she says.

"I'm sure she prefers this to slowly starving to death," he says, "Now, she will live, in relative comfort. She has tasks to keep her occupied. She gets to share your company, vhenan. I can't think of a better life."

"She could be free," she says, "She could make a life of her own choosing."

He smiles. He kisses her forehead. He pats her hand. And she didn't know she could be this angry. She didn't know she could hate him more than she already did. 

"You are so tender hearted, so kind," he says, "So young. Someday, you will understand."

"Do not trouble yourself with such thoughts," he continues, "The world is unfair. It is cruel. But I am here and you will always be taken care of."

She hopes he leave her alone with the woman. She hopes she'll have a chance to talk with her. But he doesn't. He is always within earshot. He is always so damned close. As if he thinks he'll turn his back and she'll disappear again.

Maybe he's afraid. Maybe she could.

She doesn't talk much anyway, but Ellana can tell, the woman hates her. Her face is passive. It is blank, but there is a spark of something in her eyes. There is a twitch every so often. 

She knows what hate looks like. Feels like. That's what this is.

She can't blame her.

When Ellana wants to explore the rest of the castle, Falon'Din stops her. He grips her hands. He steers her back to bed. He won't give in even when she tells him she's happy to go with an escort. She'll go with him if it means she can leave this room.

He sends the woman to the library to fetch more books. He sends her to the kitchens for food. For tea. He sends her for Abelas, once or twice, to plan because they are still hunting the Red Jennies. Mahariel and Velanna. 

Fenris.

He hates Fenris most of all. Every time she catches herself thinking about him, he does too. He punishes the Tevinter woman. He makes Abelas do it. Always Abelas.

No wonder he hates her. They all do.

She doesn't want to watch, but he forces her. He makes her watch, and she is dizzy. Every scream, every gasp, every rasp of breath, it is too much. This woman, this poor woman, she doesn't deserve to hurt like this. 

"Your little wolf will never touch you again," he says, "And when you see him, you won't recognize him. You won't know him when I am finished." 

He laughs. 

"But you are so fond of his eyes," he says, "I'll be sure to save them for you. I'll let you pluck them out yourself." 

It makes her throat constrict. It makes the edges of her vision go dark, and she thinks she's going to pass out. She starts to stumble, and he's reaching out, steadying her. He looks concerned. Uncertain. And she doesn't know what to make of that. 

"You have had far too much excitement already," he says, "Rest." Abelas carries to poor woman out again. She is bloody. She is broken.

But Ellana can't rest. Not after that.

Her dreams are terrible, even without his interference. She wants to sit in whatever passes for a library and she wants to pretend she is here because she wants to be. She wants to pretend he's still Solas. She wants to pretend there are no slaves.

But he blocks her when she tries to move. He crowds her back. He traps her against the wall.

"Do not fight me," he says, and there is a warning note in his voice. 

As if she can rest with him near. As if she can breathe with him near. As if she can stand the sight of him. She would laugh if she could remember how.

Her stomach lurches when he touches her leg. He gathers her skirts over her hips. He tears her smalls. He takes her again. He does.


	19. AOF: The Fall of Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is how she breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for NonCon, suicidal thoughts

She pretends and it is the hardest thing she has ever done. She smiles when he expects it. She kisses him when he demands. She looks out the window when he's with Abelas and she thinks about how easy it would be to lean just a little too far out and fall.

And then he knows and someone is dragging her away. The healers tell him it happens sometimes. They tell him some women just feel that way.

It isn't really a lie. Any woman would feel this way. 

With him.

He lets her leave the rooms with the Tevinter woman. The healers tell him it will help. So he listens. And she is surprised. 

But the woman doesn't talk unless she has to, unless she's asked a question. Neither will Abelas. Neither will anyone. She knows, it isn't safe for them, so she stops trying. They can't risk offending her. They can't risk Falon'Din's wrath.

It is no better than being alone. 

He brings her flowers. She hasn't told him what her favorites are but he knows, all the same. He brings too many. She can't move without tripping over them. 

The smell is overpowering. 

He gives her more of Varric's journals, and when she sees them, it is all she can do just to bite her lip to stop herself from screaming. But he feels the tremble of her emotions and he misreads her again. He pulls her into bed, into his arms, and he expects her to read them. He tries to feed her frilly cakes.

And that is too much like Solas. 

She throws up and he is not happy. He wants to punish the cook, and she almost can't stop him. 

"It's just the baby," she says, she pleads while the Tevinter woman shakes and cleans the mess. She takes his hand and kisses his palm, and that is what it takes to get him to stop. She can't think. She can't breathe. She can't stand much more of this.

He makes sympathetic noises. He kisses her belly. He rests his cheek against it. 

"Of course, vhenan, " he says, "I understand."

The Tevinter woman can not leave fast enough. And it is a small, strange thing to envy. The woman is not free, but she can leave this room. She can get away from Falon'Din, even if it is just for a little while.

"You are so beautiful." And he presses his lips to her collarbone. He breathes. He sighs.

 

Falon'Din meets with Abelas after dinner. He keeps her at the far end of the table, waiting. They speak in hushed tones, so low she can only catch a few words. They pour over maps. And Abelas is made to stand because Falon'Din won't allow another chair to be brought. 

The servants bring them wine, but Abelas won't drink. They bring her more tea. And it gets later and later and there is no sign this meeting will end. She wonders what they are doing. She wonders if she'll like the answer.

She doubts it. She doubts it very much.

"He'll come if he thinks there's a chance," Abelas says. And now she is straining to hear. He looks tired. He looks like his temper is starting to fray. 

Falon'Din hisses. The air feels thick and heavy and there is a dangerous look in his eyes.

"No. Enough. I don't care," he says, he snaps.

"It is the best way to draw him out," Abelas says, "Tomorrow, we can---"

"Do not ask me again," he says and he sounds strained, odd. 

She isn't sure who they're talking about, but she hopes they are smart enough to recognize the trap. She hopes they are clever enough to avoid capture. She hopes they can make him hurt. 

Falon'Din looks at her and she knows he has caught the stray thought because the look on his face is terrible. He stands. He takes her arm, and he is shooing Abelas away.

"We will continue this discussion another time," he says. 

Abelas is wise not to argue. He bows. He gathers the maps, and he makes a hasty retreat. 

Falon'Din is quiet as he leads her back down the hall, to their bedroom. She can feel his irritation, prickling in the air. She expects him to shout at her, to chastise her, to say something, but he lets the silence fester. He always takes it so poorly, but he can't really be this surprised. She hates him. She will always hate him. 

He locks the door and just stands there, with his back to her, his shoulders shaking. 

Dinner sits like a stone in her belly and her chest hurts. She has not seen him like this. She doesn't know what to expect. 

She changes into her night clothes. She tries to breathe but it is difficult. He is fuming and she can feel it and it is just a matter of time before he snaps. He will. He is going to. She knows. 

She takes the book from her nightstand and sits. She pulls the blankets over her and tries to read. She tries to ignore him. 

She fails. 

He is furious. He is dangerous when he's like this. 

He putters around the room. He acts like she isn't here, like she isn't waiting to see where his mood goes. She can't even vent her frustration. She can't pick a fight because his retaliation will be directed at someone else. It will be far worse than she can justify. 

None of this is fair. 

He strips out of his shirt. He crumples it and drops it on the floor, and she can only see his back. He looks different. Stronger. More defined. He has gotten new ink since the last time she let herself look at him---nothing nearly as big or horrible as hers, but it is stark black and blue lines against his pale skin. Elvhen designs. 

Beautiful work, because it must be. She can imagine how terrified the artist must have been, to have to mark Falon'Din's back. 

"I'm glad you like it," he says, suddenly, but it is clear, he is not pleased. 

He can not be managed when he's like this. He won't be placated. She can only hope to weather it, shut her eyes, and wait for it to be over. 

It is hard not to flinch when he moves, but she tries. He notices. It makes it worse.

He plucks the book out of her hands and tosses it, and when she looks up at him, he pushes her back against the pillows. He follows. He angles himself over her and it is awkward because he has to be careful about her stomach. There is too much of it now.

He kisses her until she's gasping for breath---too hard, too insistent, his teeth clashing with hers. When he finally breaks, he has not lost any of his rage. If anything, he is worse.

"You should not be so pleased when our enemies threaten us," he says, "If anything happens to me, you will not survive the night. Neither will our child."

She bites back her response but he hears it nonetheless. She doesn't care what he thinks, she would be fine. The child would be fine, because she is not a monster and she has friends and allies. She has people who want to see her safe.

She thinks of Fenris and that is a mistake. Falon'Din rears back as if he's going to hit her---she expects him too, she's ready for it. But he doesn't. He stops and he climbs off her. 

"What are you doing?" she asks as he reaches for the bell, to summon the Tevinter woman. Her throat is too tight all of a sudden. She can't watch him hurt her again. She can't.

"I'm tired of sharing you with him," he says. And he rings for the woman and she is going to throw up. 

"I'm trying," she says.

"I don't care," he says.

"What am I supposed to do?" she asks.

But he won't tell her and then the Tevinter woman is here. He grabs the woman by the neck. He tears the front of her dress as he forces her head back.

"Please, don't," Ellana says.

He kisses the woman. He hits her. He gets a hand under her skirts. And she struggles to keep herself passive, compliant.

Her eyes are dead. 

This should not be happening. 

"Please, stop," Ellana says, "Please." He wants something from her. He must, she thinks, but she can't guess what it might be. 

She is not graceful anymore, but she stands. She heaves herself out of this awkward position. Look at me, she thinks, damn it, just look at me. She knows he hears her. 

She can't do this. She can't watch this. She can't listen. She just can't. 

"I'll do whatever you want me to do," she says, "I'll do anything." And her voice is too loud and too sharp. It cracks and he is looking at her, still furious, his eyes narrowing. He tightens his grip on the woman, his hand at her throat, bruising. 

"Please, vhenan," she says. And it hangs heavy on her tongue. Vhenan. Vhenan. She can't let herself think. She can't. 

She touches his arm. She tugs on him, expecting him to lash out, expecting him to hurt her and go right back to the woman. But his breath comes out a hiss and then he's shoving the woman away.

"Get out of here," he snaps, and then she is backing away, bowing again, murmuring apologies that aren't hers to give. She has done nothing wrong. This is him. This is all him. 

"I'm sorry," Ellana says. He stands still and just looks at her. He waits. 

She kisses him because she can't think of what else she could do. There is nothing to stop him from calling the woman back in, from hurting her again. She kisses him and she tries to think of nothing and no one. 

There is just the feel of his lips. There is nothing in the world beyond that. He is a body. He is a stranger. He is not real. She can get through this if he's just that. 

His arms come around her, but they are gentle. She doesn't expect gentle. She doesn't want gentle. It is easier when he hurts her. 

He starts to pull back, his breath and irritated hiss again, but she stops him.. She kisses him how she wants to be kissed. She forces her mind to go blank. She has to because she can't let him hurt anyone. 

"Ma sa'lath," she whispers, her lips still touching his, "Touch me, please." He goes very still. He holds his breath and all at once he doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands. She guides them to her hips. She presses them against her.

She buries her revulsion as deep down as she can. She focuses on the feel of his hands. She knows them so well, the softness of this skin. They have touched her a thousand times before. That is all this is. He is just a man, she tells herself. He is just a body. There is nothing inside. This is nothing.

She kisses him again. She is disgusting and this is wrong, but she does. Again and again. 

He tastes like wine and he is shaking. She doesn't know how her hands are so steady.

This is what he wants. This.

"Ellana," he says. She doesn't know how she can smile like this, how she can look at him and be soft, but she does. 

"Emma lath," she says, "Vhenan, please."

She cups his face and kisses the corners of his mouth.

"Ar lath ma," she says, and then he's fumbling to get her night clothes out of the way. Everything he has done, everything that has happened, it is her fault. This is all she can do. This is what she must do.

She doesn't deserve anything better. 

 

She wakes to the feel of his lips on her cheek, his fingers pressing inside her. When she opens her eyes, his smile is soft. She doesn't try to stop him. She feels odd this morning. She is almost numb. She doesn't fight. 

"Ar lath ma," he says, and he nuzzles the spot behind her ear. He makes her shiver.

"Ar lath ma," she says and it is strange how easy the lie falls off her lips. She just has to look at him and let herself drift. She can pretend and it is alright. 

And then he's easing her up on top of him. He's helping her balance as he guides himself inside her again.

She lets him have her because it's what he wants. 

She smiles because it's what he wants. 

She calls him vhenan because it's what he wants. 

No matter how she tries, she can't forget the look of the Tevinter woman's eyes. She can't forget the way he was last night. How willing he was to rape another woman just to punish her. The face he made when he looked at her, those eyes.

Her stomach feels like it's stretched too tight. He brushes the hair back from her face. He rests his palm against her cheek. It is still so hard to breathe.

"I have to leave you for a few days," he says, "I was going to wait to tell you until after breakfast. I am sorry, vhenan, it can't be helped."

She lets him roll her onto her back again. She should feel something, she thinks. That should mean something.

"Where are you going?" she asks. She doesn't want to think. She can't, because when she does, it'll be the wrong thing. He'll hear her and then he'll be angry again. 

And she will be sick.

The smile he gives her quirks up and he is amused. He is listening now. He is in her thoughts. He can see everything. She knows.

"You are good to think of me, my heart," he says, "But you needn't worry. I won't be angry with you." But he will. She remembers. She does.

He runs the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. 

"I have business to attend," he says, "But you will be safe here, with Abelas." And he won't explain. He won't say what it is or who. He is leaving her here, she thinks. She is still numb. She is still uncertain. But this is important. He kisses her and he kisses her and he kisses her. 

"How long will you be gone?" she asks.

"Will you miss me?" he asks, "Two days, maybe three. Is there anything you want me to bring you?"

She traces the line of his jaw, the curve of his ear. He has such beautiful eyes, she thinks, and then he's sighing. He's pressing her palm to his cheek. He's leaning into her.

"You make it so hard to leave," he says.

"I can't think of anything I need," she says.

But he laughs.

"Of course, vhenan, I have given you everything you need already, but I asked if there was anything you want, ma sa'lath," he says, "Something just for you. Something selfish."

But she is already selfish. She is. And it is too much.

"No, love," she says, because she doesn't want anything. She doesn't deserve anything. 

He frowns.

"But I want to get you something," he says, "I want to celebrate. The baby will be here soon. We are together. Everything is finally almost perfect."

"I love you," he says.

Then if he wants to bring he something, he will, because it is what he wants. 

"Surprise me," she says.

He is pleased.

He gets dressed.

He hums.

He whistles.

He leaves after breakfast, and she is alone with the Tevinter woman and Abelas as the eluvian goes dark. She wants to die. She does.

 

She wakes to a hand on her shoulder. She smells smoke. She sees Abelas, his expression grim. He is armed and dressed for a fight.

"Abelas?" she asks.

He would never be in her room like this. Something is wrong. It must be. But she is not afraid.

"There isn't time to explain," Abelas says, "Take only what you can carry. We have to run."

She is confused but not so much that she can't see the humor in that statement. If he is counting on her ability to run, they are going to die. And it would not be such a terrible thing. She doesn't think she'll mind it much. 

She doesn't bother to get dressed. She wants nothing, just her night dress and her shoes and a wrap to cover up in. Then, he's pulling her out into the hall. He's urging her on. He is desperate and afraid. But she feels nothing. Still. 

"What's happening? Where are we going?" she asks. 

The Tevinter woman comes, her face pale and smudged in soot. She is wide eyed and silent as always, but quick to come to Ellana's other side, to take her hand. This is strange, she thinks. 

"I said there's no time," Abelas says, and he is impatient, "The Keep is burning. We're under attack. Everyone is evacuating. We have to go now."

But she hears nothing. There is no screaming. There is no sign of an attack, only the smoke. The servants are already gone, she thinks. They must be.

"Then tell me while we go," she says.

Her heart is racing.

"I'm getting us out of here," he says. He isn't making any sense.

She doesn't know what this is, but she hopes, she hopes. Maybe they can get away. Maybe Falon'Din won't be able to find them. Maybe, she thinks. And that is a dangerous thing. She can not really let herself think there is a chance.

What if this a part of the plan Falon'Din refused to listen to? Abelas said he wanted to draw someone out. Maybe that's what this is. Maybe it is hopeless after. 

But as they near the eluvian, she hears fighting. She hears the clash of swords. She hears shouting. 

She sees bodies. No, she sees pieces of bodies. The soldiers have been torn apart by something. 

She sees blood.

So much blood.

She holds her hand over her nose and mouth. She is starting to get lightheaded.

The room Falon'Din keeps the eluvian is chaos. The door is open and she can see shadows, figures. She sees the glint of a blade. She sees a pulse of silvery blue light. 

At once, Abelas pushes her behind him. His sword comes up in front of him. He blocks the strike of a heavy blade. He stumbles, the force shoving him back, knocking her into the Tevinter woman. 

She doesn't know how the woman keeps her from falling, but she does, and then Abelas is cursing.

He lowers his sword. Not much, just a fraction.

"Be more mindful of your surroundings," he snaps.

"You're late," the enemy swordsman replies, and he is gruff. He is curt. Her heart is stuttering because she knows that voice. She does. And he is not supposed to be here.

He sheathes his sword and wipes the sweat from his brow and she sees the shock of white hair. She sees the lyrium in his skin. She wants to say something---anything, but she can't. No, she thinks, no, no, no.

Fenris is here and this is wrong. She gets a flash of the image Falon'Din showed her, of what he would do to him. She coughs. She coughs so hard she thinks she's going to vomit. There is too much smoke---it is getting thicker, harder to see, harder to breathe. 

Fenris can't be here. He can't. 

Abelas glances at her, the question in his eyes.

"I'm fine, " she manages. But she isn't fine. 

If Falon'Din catches them, if he finds them---but the thought breaks off, unfinished, because the Tevinter woman is hugging Fenris. She wraps her arms around him and he is clumsily returning the hug. They know each other, she realizes. He calls her Orana. She has a name.

He shuts his eyes. He hugs her back. He looks like he's going to cry. 

"I'm glad you're here," she hears Orana say.

"We should have come sooner. But we didn't know where you were," he says, "How are you?" 

"Better," Orana says, but it sounds like a lie. She lets go. She steps back. She smiles.

Ellana doesn't want this to be a dream, but she is so afraid it might be. She'll wake up and _he_ will be sleeping beside her. Or worse, he won't be sleeping. It'll start all over again and there will be no escape.

Abelas starts to take her arm again, but then Fenris is here. He won't look at her, but he takes her hand. He squeezes it, and then he is pulling her through the eluvian. He doesn't let go, not after. Not even after. They are standing in the fresh air and the others are coming through---they are going to see but she doesn't care. 

He is here and he is touching her hand, and still, she doesn't understand. How can any of this be real? 

Abelas shatters the eluvian. She hears the first shard strike the ground. She sees the cascade of silver our of the corner of her eye. Nothing can come through now. Nothing will follow them. 

"Are you alright?" Fenris asks and he is hesitant. He sounds uncomfortable. He stares at her stomach and she doesn't want to know what he's thinking. He looks horrified, maybe, or a little disgusted, but she isn't sure. Whatever it is, it is bad and unpleasant and she doesn't know. He is always so hard to read. 

"I'm fine," she says, but is she? 

Why is she shaking?

Abelas makes an impatient sound. Fenris pulls away. He is quick. too quick. His face goes blank. He drops her hand. He steps back.

"We aren't safe yet," Abelas says, "We need to move. It's just a matter of time before he realizes what I've done. He may already know."

After the terrible heat of the fire, she doesn't know how she can be this cold, but she is. She almost can't feel her fingers. She is shivering and she knows she shouldn't feel like this. There is no snow. 

She pulls her wrap tight around her. She heats the air, just a little, just enough to take the edge off. And yet, she's still shivering. Still struggling. 

"Could someone please tell me what's going on?" she asks.

Abelas snorts.

"I thought it was obvious," he says, "This is a rescue."

"But I thought you were his---"

"No," he says, cutting her off, his voice sharp, "No." She doesn't know why she's surprised, but she is. The force of his conviction is staggering. He is insulted by the suggestion. This is not a trap. He is betraying Falon'Din. He hates him.

"I won't speak of it," Abelas says.

They pass through another eluvian and another and another before they stop working, before they go dark. Falon'Din must know by now what they've done, she thinks. He controls the network. He must have shut them down. But it doesn't matter. He can't come through a broken eluvian. And Abelas breaks each one behind them. He looks angrier each time too. As if he doesn't want to, as if it offends him to do it. But there is no choice. 

Falon'Din will come. 

He will find her. He always does. 


	20. AOF: Too Small To Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing makes sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: References to Noncon, nightmares of child death/murder, abuse

Fenris helps her onto her horse and she is thinking about the slaves who couldn't escape, the people in his other holdings, the ones marked for her. She wonders if running away is a mistake. She wonders if she's making it worse.

"What's wrong?" Fenris asks, but she doesn't want to tell him. She doesn't want to admit what she's thinking about. If she goes back to Falon'Din now, she wonders, would it help? Would it keep him from hurting anyone else? 

But Falon'Din is furious. She knows. He is. It wouldn't help. And he would hurt her too. It would be worse this time. So much worse.

"Nothing's wrong," she says, and she knows he doesn't believe her. His scowl deepens. 

"Don't tell me where we're going," she says. They all know why. 

"If you need us to stop," Fenris says, "Tell us this time." The sharp of his tone makes her flinch and then she's embarrassed. She is not a child. She is not so stupid she doesn't know she can't push herself the way she used to. She has not forgotten her condition. But she doesn't snap at him. She doesn't fight with him. She says, yes, she will. It is a reflex now. Yes. Always yes.

Even the sound of her voice is different. 

She catches Fenris looking at Abelas. She reads his face and she doesn't like it. There is too much concern and it is misplaced. They should worry about Orana instead. She had it worst of all. They should worry about themselves. They should worry about the people left behind. Not her. Never her.

She does not feel calm, and the longer they ride, the worse it is.

They are somewhere in the Emerald Graves and she hates it. The air is too hot and she is sweating. 

 

They stop when they reach Villa Maurel. It is deserted but the doors are unlocked and there is a place to hide the horses, just in case anyone passes by. A small peace of mind.

There is no food in the kitchen, but she expected as much. It has been too long. There is little of anything they can use, but Fenris has brought supplies. There is enough for the four of them. They won't go hungry. 

She can't forget the first time she was here. With Solas. With Sera. With Blackwall. She can almost hear their voices as she sits in the quiet by the fire. She can almost hear Blackwall's laugh. He and Sera teasing Solas about the Fade and seducing spirits. His face when they asked, she'll never forget the flush of his cheeks.

They were better times. Happier times.

Fenris has brought more of Zevran's ginger tea. He tries to make some but Orana takes it away when it's clear he's going to empty half the bag into the boiling water. She smiles and shakes her head and tells him to let her---she needs something to keep her occupied.

She says she'll show him the trick to making good tea if he wants. 

He nods. He looks a little embarrassed. And he watches her, his gaze intense. 

When it's done, Orana pours it into a cup. She hands it to Fenris, but he doesn't drink it. He brings it to Ellana. He puts it in her hands and she is surprised. 

"Thank you," she says, to both of them.

"You're welcome," he mutters. He looks away, but there is a smile on his face. It is small but it is there.

And it feels strange to know he has thought of her. He is kind. He is thoughtful. He is beautiful.

And when she looks at him, she is struck by the thought. She wants to kiss him again. She does. She wants to feel a touch that isn't forced. She wants to remember what it's like. And she wants it to be with him. 

Her chest hurts. Her stomach hurts. She isn't ready for this. She knows. 

She tries to smile, but somewhere, somehow, it goes wrong. It is crooked and tense and false and he can see it when he looks. The corners of her eyes sting.

But she is not going to cry.

No.

She drinks the tea.

Fenris lingers and it seems he wants to say something. But whatever it is, he talks himself out of it. She doesn't ask. She doesn't dare.

They sleep on the floor in the main hall because the bedrooms are infested with vermin. There are bugs. There are rats. Not mice. Definitely not mice. It smells terrible and the blankets have been chewed to pieces. 

Her back will not thank her in the morning. The baby will not thank her in the morning. She props herself up against the wall, trying to lessen her discomfort. She is glad it is a warm night. 

She is afraid to go to sleep. 

 

Falon'Din catches her. He screams at her. He twists her arm and breaks her wrist. He takes the baby. He promises she'll never see it again.

And then she realizes it isn't him. It's just a dream and he is just the shape the Fade takes to torment her. She knows because all at once there are two of him, and the second figure banishes the first. He stares at her and he is afraid.

"It's alright, vhenan, I'm here," he says, "Tell me where they're taking you. I'll come for you." She knows he will. She does. 

"I don't know," she says. And she is still caught up in the dream. Her child is gone and she needs to get them back, she needs to. She has to find them---

He grips her arms. He makes her look at him.

"This is just a dream," he says, "I would never take the child from you. We are a family. I want us to be together. Where are you now? Tell me what you remember."

But he is already plucking it from her thoughts. The Emerald Graves. Villa Maurel. Abelas. Fenris. He knows. 

His breath catches and then he's shaking her. He's hurting her.

"You would leave me for him?" he shouts.

She claws at him, tries to push him away.

"I didn't," she says, "I didn't know this would happen." And she feels pathetic. She wanted to leave him. She is glad they took her. She shouldn't be trying to placate him, convince him, calm him. She doesn't care. She shouldn't. 

But she can't think about anything but him. She needs to soothe his anger. And she knows something is wrong with her, because she shouldn't want that. She should be glad he has been thwarted. She thinks she is losing her mind.

She should not be afraid of him. This isn't real. He isn't really here.

He picks through her thoughts and she can actually feel it. He is too forceful. He is clumsy. It hurts.

But whatever he sees, whatever thought fragment he catches, it calms him. He relaxes his grip. He stops shaking her. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and then he's trying to steady himself.

"No, you didn't know," he says, sounding relieved, "Abelas tricked you. Of course. I am sorry I doubted you."

He breathes against her throat and when he pulls back he kisses her. He tangles his fingers in her hair.

"They will suffer for this, ma sa'lath," he says, "I promise."

"I'm coming for you," he says.

She can't breathe.

 

She jolts awake. She is curled on her side. She has shifted in the night---her head is cushioned on one of the supply bags. It hadn't been there last night. Someone must have moved it, set it beside her just in case.

But that is unimportant.

"He's coming," she says, "We have to go."

And Orana is scrambling. She is repacking the supply bags and she is doing it with a calm efficiency that is stunning. Her hands aren't even shaking. She doesn't seem afraid. She isn't afraid. 

But he is coming. He knows where they are. He is coming and he is going to---he is going to---he is---

"Breathe," Abelas says, "Calm yourself. He can't come here directly. The nearest eluvian would put him two days from here. We have time."

She tries to listen, to follow his direction, but it is difficult. Her breath is caught in her throat and her mouth is too dry, her tongue too thick. She doesn't really feel like she's here, like she's in her body. More like she's watching herself, like she's hovering just behind her shoulders.

"Listen to my voice and look at me," Abelas says and he rests his palms on her shoulders, "We have planned for this. He isn't going to find us."

There is something in his voice that helps. She seems to shrink back into herself. She can breathe easier.

"Do you understand?" he asks.

She nods.

"Yes, thank you," she says, and it is all she can say. She can barely get it out.

How can they all be so calm? She doesn't understand. She tries to help Orana but she shoos her away. She smiles. She says she will work faster if she does it by herself, and Ellana knows that is code for _you will get in the way_.

Abelas looks at her critically. He pulls her aside. He guides her back into one of the chairs.

"Your task is to sit," he says, "Count each breath you take. Slow, Ellana, slow. And when you get to twenty, start again."

She feels ridiculous but she does it anyway. And she does not want to admit that it helps. She is better by the second set of twenty. Not much, but enough. Her hands stop shaking.

 

Abelas has safe houses. Several. He has been planning this for a while, and he is not working alone. 

Loranil greets them at the next stop. When she sees him, she knows who has been helping Abelas. The Red Jennies. Sera. Mahariel. They are working together. All of them. They are united. Old world and New world. She hadn't believed it could be done. Not really, but that is exactly what this is.

The safe house is small. It is stocked with food and clothing and weapons, but it is not so comfortable they can stay. There are already three residents. There is Loranil. There is one of Mythal's sentinels. There is a mage named Lysas who almost looks familiar.

There isn't much room for more.

She doesn't want to stay here.

Loranil and Orana make dinner. While they cook, no one talks. Orana hums. She and Loranil work around each other, with each other. They laugh. They whisper. Every now and then, when Loranil thinks no one is looking, he looks at Orana and his face goes soft. He is smitten. 

The world needs more of this, Ellana thinks. 

The rest of them sit and the quiet is pleasant. It isn't tense. It isn't horrible.

Abelas dozes off while they wait. The other sentinel, Ellana thinks her name is Aravas, repairs his armor. Fenris sits by the window with a book, his brow furrowed with concentration.

And Lysas picks through the store room. When he returns, he has carries a mage staff that looks more like a walking stick than a weapon. It is ancient ironwood and it is twisted and shaped like a sturdy branch. He gives it to her. 

"Just in case," he says. 

She has a weapon again.

But what good would it do?

"Thank you," she says.

She isn't hungry. It makes no difference how delicious it all smells. She picks at it when it's ready. She eats but only what she has to, only enough to stop Fenris from fussing at her. She can't really taste anything anyway. It sits like a stone in her belly.

And she is glad she doesn't have to sleep on the floor tonight. She doesn't have to prop herself up against something. She doesn't have to contort herself into a ridiculous arrangement of limbs. There are beds, not enough for everyone, but they insist she take one of them. There are pillows and blankets, more than enough for everyone. Her back isn't going to feel bruised when she wakes. Her legs aren't going to ache.

But Fenris sleeps on the floor. He volunteers. He acts like he prefers it. 

He takes first watch.

Every time she starts to nod off, the baby kicks. It jars her awake. It reminds her where she is and what they're doing and how poorly she has been sleeping, even before this. After an hour, she gives up. She sits, she stands---she thinks she should make more tea. Maybe that will help.

But Fenris sees her move and he is scowling.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," he says, "Tomorrow will be a long day."

"I'm sorry," she says, and she doesn't know why. She doesn't know why she sounds like this. If she wants to be out of bed, she can and might as well should be. She doesn't owe him an explanation or an apology. 

She tries to breathe. She tries to ignore the hurt. She doesn't know who she is right now. She doesn't recognize herself.

"Why are you apologizing again?" he asks. An odd look creeps onto his face. It's a bit too much like concern again. It makes her uncomfortable.

"I don't know," she says, because she doesn't. 

"Go to sleep," he says. But his voice is softer. He looks like he's trying. He looks... almost crest fallen. She doesn't understand.

"I'm sorry," she says again. 

"Stop apologizing," he snaps. He's going to yell at her, she thinks. His mood shifts too quickly. It is hard to keep up.

"I need something to drink," she says, and she thinks about what she would have done before all this. She tries to tell him to leave her alone. She tries to get up and make her damn tea, but instead, when he tells her to sit, she sits. She swings her legs back up into bed. She pulls the blankets up around her. It is not what she wants to do, but it is what she does. 

She thinks she is going to scream, because there is something wrong with her. There is.

Something in Fenris' gaze shifts. Some of the hardness fades. But this is worse. There is pity again. There is regret. He is looking at her and all he sees is this broken thing she has become. 

This isn't how it's supposed to be.

"Is it---is it the baby? Do you want more tea?" he asks. He looks uncertain. 

She doesn't want him to make her anything. She wants to do it herself. She wants to get out of bed and ignore him when he tells her she should be sleeping. 

But she nods and says yes. And he fumbles with the kettle and the tea leaves. She can tell he's trying to remember what Orana showed him. He mutters to himself. He curses. He almost spills the water. 

But it tastes better this time. It isn't good, but still. He sits on the edge of the bed. He watches her. He smiles.

"Thank you," she says. 

He does have a beautiful smile, she thinks, and before she can stop herself, she's touching his cheek. She's leaning toward him, not much. Just a little.

His eyes go wide and she hears the hitch of his breath, the surprise. His skin is soft, she thinks. And then she wonders, has it really been so long?

But he catches her wrist. He shuts his eyes. He sighs. He stops her. He pulls away. 

"I'm supposed to be on watch. Now is...not a good time," he says. And he looks uncomfortable again. He looks ashamed, embarrassed, "We should talk later."

Talk.

Oh, she thinks. She looks at his face and she knows. She feels the sting of it. Her face is too hot. She knows what _that_ means. That tone of voice. She has misread him. Again.

"I'm sorry," she says. She should never have assumed. It has been months since she last saw him, since the kiss. She didn't ask. She just---she thought---of course, it would be inappropriate now. 

Too much has happened.

Too much has changed. _She has changed._ And he only kissed her because she kissed him, because they were about to be captured. They were afraid.

Oh, she thinks. Oh. 

"There it is again. Stop," he says, "You haven't done anything wrong. You don't have to apologize every time you take a breath."

Somehow, that makes it worse.. 

His tone is too sharp, but she understands now. She would be annoyed too, if she was being nice to someone and they kept taking it the wrong way. That's what it was---is. 

She averts her eyes.

 _For all your talk, you have remained faithful. Or would your mongrel not have you?_ Falon'Din's voice. His laughter. No wonder he was so amused. He had looked into her thoughts and he had seen everything. He had watched her misread Fenris. He had watched her throw herself at him. Foolishly. She had misinterpreted all the signs. All of them.

Always.

She drinks her tea and her hands are shaking.

But Fenris is still here. He is still looking at her, he is starting to lean toward her. If she didn't know better, if he hadn't just said they needed to talk, she'd think he wanted to kiss her.

But she knows now. She knows better.

He gives her the smallest, quickest smile.

"I have...missed you," he says, his voice rough, quiet. And then he turns. He gets up, retreats to his post. He looks out the window and she is more confused now than she was. 

 

"I am close, vhenan, very close," he says.

It is another nightmare and there are two of him again. The baby is dead and he has killed it to punish her. She knows it isn't real this time, but she feels like it is. It hurts too much. Every part of her.

She is bleeding. The front of her dress is soaked through. If this was the waking world, she'd be light headed from blood loss. She'd be dying. 

The real Falon'Din stares at the scene and he is horrified. He banishes the images. He pulls her to her feet. He erases the blood. He puts her in fine, pale silks.

He kisses her face. Her eyes. Her cheeks.

"It's just a dream," he says, "I would never harm our child. I would never harm you. Never." But he has. He does. Always.

"What have they done to you?" he asks.

"Nothing," she says, "They have been nothing but kind."

He doesn't care for her answer. She almost retracts it, she almost tells him what he wants to hear. But that would make this worse. It wouldn't stop his anger. She would still be afraid.

"Where are you now?" he asks.

And as before, he plucks the information from her thoughts. There is less for him though. She doesn't know this land. She doesn't recognize any landmarks. But the safe house, that gets his attention.

"How long has he been planning this?" he asks, and she is glad he isn't really talking to her.

"He is worse than Mahariel," he says, "He would use you to get to me. He would hurt you." So he twists the Fade. He kills them both, over and over again. Mahariel and Abelas. So many different, horrible ways. He makes her listen to their screams. He makes her watch.

And he is never satisfied. It is never enough.

 

"I can't do anything for you until we reach the camp," Abelas says when she wakes, "I am not a Dreamer like Solas---like Falon'Din. But I'll inquire. Someone will know a way to safeguard your dreams."

She must look confused, because he sighs. The corners of his mouth twitch and it's as if he's trying not to smile.

"You talk in your sleep," he says.

He is not the first to tell her this, but still, she is mortified. It was not a good dream. How much of it did he hear? 

"It won't be long," he promises, "At worst, a couple of days."

"You're all he talks about," she says, "He wants to hurt you."

And then Abelas does smile. He grins and she sees no real warmth. There is only anger. Rage.

"He'll have to catch me first," he says, "I am tired of bowing to men like him."

"I am not afraid," he says.

But he should be, she thinks. If he had seen what Falon'Din did to him in the Fade, if he had heard the screams, he wouldn't be so brave. It is worse than what he plans for Fenris. 

"He says he's close," she says, "I don't think it's safe for anyone to stay here. You should send your people to another safe house."

He nods, but she suspects he has already thought of it. He is ancient. He doesn't need her help. But it is kind of him not to scoff at her and point it out himself. He lets her have the illusion. He lets it look like she's contributing. 

"Try not to worry," he says.

But that is another impossible task.


	21. AOF: The Gift of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knows what it is to burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: massacre/mass murder

She asks them to blindfold her. 

There are too many landmarks she recognizes. Too many forests. Too many roads. These places are familiar and she is giving them away every night when she sleeps. If she doesn't know where they are, he won't know. 

It makes sense.

Abelas agrees but then he says she has to ride with someone. She can't risk losing control of the horse. She can't risk falling.

She is surprised again when Fenris volunteers. He helps her into the saddle and he rides behind, his arms loose around her. She is still embarrassed from before, but this is nice. It is comfortable. It makes her stomach almost flutter. 

She is glad he can't see her face. She can feel it. Her face is hot, she's probably very red.

The blind fold is not comfortable, though, it is awkward and heavy. It isn't dark enough to blot out the light. but it blocks everything else. It is hard to sit on the back of the horse and ride like this. Blind. She can't brace for anything and every dip or bump catches her off guard. 

She gets knocked forward more than once, and the suddenness of it wakes the baby. It shifts. It moves. It kicks where it shouldn't and settles where it shouldn't and if this keeps up she is going to piss herself. 

She hasn't even begun to start thinking about names, but she needs to. It is getting so big. She is getting closer. It will come and she will be unprepared.

When they stop for the night, they set up one of the tents they took from the safe house. They set it up and help her inside and then she can see again. Orana brings her food. But she doesn't stay with her. She doesn't talk to her. 

She smiles and sets the bowl down in front of her and retreats. She sits with Abelas and Fenris under the stars. They don't really talk, but every once in a while, someone will say something. Ellana is painfully aware that she has been set aside.

When they go to sleep, she doesn't. She pretends. She lays down and goes still so the first watch doesn't know. But she stares at the side of the tent and each time the baby kicks or moves she sends it an apology. 

I'm sorry, she thinks, I'm sorry. 

She sends one to Solas each time, too. Because he didn't deserve this.

 

She manages to stay awake, but she isn't sure it was a good idea. She fumbles with the blindfold, her fingers clumsy. She stumbles a little more than usual when Fenris helps her to the horse, when she gets a hand on the saddle.

They ride in silence and she in a semi darkness. She starts to drift. She dozes. Her head droops. And then she's asleep and in the Fade. And _he_ doesn't find her. 

It is unnerving to be alone like this. To not have him intrude. The only terrible things she sees are from her own mind. They are not from his. 

She sees the dead on the battlefield, her people and his. She sees the sky burning again. 

She sees Solas. He is alive and well and smiling at her, reaching for her. And she is glad because she is not alone here. She is glad because he is alive. It will be alright if she can get to him. If she can touch him.

But as she runs, as she gets closer, his skin starts to turn a sickly gray. It peels. It splits as he starts to bloat, and when he opens his mouth to speak, his jaw comes loose. It hangs open, too wide. 

She sees decay. She sees rot. And his eyes. Gods, his eyes. 

He is not alive at all. She was wrong.

She did this to him. This is her fault. 

He stumbles toward her and she can't get away. He is touching her. His skin is sloughing off. He is falling into her. He is---

And then she's sitting up, lurching. There is an arm around, holding her steady. Fenris, she remembers. He pulls her back against him. He stops her from sliding. His cheek brushes her hair, and then she feels his breath. 

"You're safe. I have you," he says. 

She thinks she feels the press of his lips, feather light and quick, but she isn't sure. It is there and gone again. Little more than a touch to the side of her head.

She grips his arm and she doesn't want to cry, but she does and everyone can hear her. If she hadn't pushed, if she hadn't tried to take Falon'Din out of Solas, he would still be here. None of this would have happened.

After awhile, the worst of it ebbs. She catches her breath and she is embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Don't apologize," he says, but his voice is soft this time. He relaxes his hold, but only a little. She thinks, she should stop holding on to his arm. She should let go. She should try to regain some of her dignity. But she doesn't. She can't.

 

There is a village in the distance. She can't see it but Abelas tells them. He perks up and he says it's one of theirs. It's hidden in the forest and it is not easy to find. They can stay for a few days. 

There are alarms that will trigger if his soldiers come. 

But she smells the air and it is strange. There is smoke but it is faint, it is old, and there is barely a trace of it left. She smells rotting flesh when the wind blows just right. They will not find refuge in the village. 

"We should go around," she says, "Something isn't right." 

"He couldn't have found it," Abelas says, "If something happened, it wasn't him." He says he needs to know and then he can smell it too. They all can.

"He could have left soldiers behind," Fenris says, "We should go around. I don't like this."

But Abelas hesitates. She can't see him but she can feel his uncertainty. These are his people. He needs to know. 

"Hang back and watch," he says, "If it is a trap, go. Tell Mahariel--"

"You are not riding into a trap alone," Fenris says, "We stay together."

And they are both idiots, she thinks. She can smell death in the air and they are actually considering investigating. She could cheerful hit both of them.

She hears the horse, probably Abelas', continue on. Fenris waits before he follows. He puts distance between them, just in case. Still not the best plan, but they have already rejected hers. Orana is not a fighter and she has had no mage training, if this goes badly, she wouldn't be able to help. 

Ellana hears nothing but the horses. The air is still and silent, like something is holding it's breath. And the smell gets worse, stronger. She doesn't have to see it to know the people are dead. A whole village doesn't just die, something had to have killed them. Or someone, she thinks, and she is afraid.

She wants to take the blind fold off. She wants to see for herself.

She hears Orana gasp and Fenris is tense. She feels the horse pulling on the bit. It wants to turn away. It wants to run. That's a sign, she thinks. They should listen to the horses. They should leave.

But there is something else. She feels the rush of magic. It isn't a spell cast. It is a spell breaking. They have triggered something. Probably a ward. Some kind of alarm. 

And Abelas curses. He feels it too. 

"What is it?" Fenris asks.

"They know we're here," she says, "We triggered something. We can't stay."

"They killed them all," Fenris says, and she is glad she can't see. 

"There's nothing we can do for them," Orana says, "I'm sorry."

She is glad she can't see because she is partly to blame. They are dead because Abelas freed her. There is no doubt in her mind. Falon'Din did this. He did this because he was looking for her. 

She thinks the hiss of breath she hears must be Abelas. It is ragged. It is reluctant. He isn't ready to leave. These are his people. These are friends, people he cares about, and they are dead. They deserve a proper burial. They deserve better than this. Slaughtered and left to rot. No. This should not have happened. 

But she hears the moment Abelas gives in. 

"Yes," he says, "You are right. We can't help them now."

Fenris lets the horse turn and they are trotting. It wants to run and she can't blame it.

 

She doesn't know how long they ride before it happens, but they ride in silence. No one wants to speak, she thinks, because the weight of what they haven't said is heavy. Every death is a death too many. It is a waste.

She wonders if Falon'Din will do the same to the next unfortunate village he finds. She wonders if he knew they were allies. Or if it was just because he was in a rage.

She hears something zip past the horses. It hits the dirt in front of Orana, and she thinks it sounds like an arrow or a crossbow bolt. But it can't be because if it is, if someone is shooting at them. If someone is shooting at them, it means they've been caught. But they can't have been. They can't. 

Fenris can't draw his sword because it is too late and there is no room to draw her staff. 

Her chest feels too tight and there is a rushing sound in her ears, a roaring. She hears horses. She hears more horses. Too many. They are surrounded. They must be.

"Take one more step, Abelas, go on, test my archers," a voice says, "I assure you, they will not miss."

"Adahlen," he says, "Of course." He knows her. Of course, he would.

"Drop your weapons," Adahlen commands, "Now."

After a moment, Fenris shifts. She feels him. He draws his sword and drops it on the ground. Abelas does the same. Ellana doesn't reach for her staff. She should. She knows, but she can't move.

She is surprised when no one takes it from her.

"You must be pleased with your promotion," Abelas says, "Tell me, did it please you to slaughter so many innocent men and women, to cut them down while they were unarmed and helpless?" He is brave and he is going to get himself killed. She hears the hiss of breath, of rage. Adahlen's probably. But there are so many soldiers. There are so many horses. 

"You are a fool. You were his right hand," Adahlen says, "Get that thing off her. Show me her face. Is she damaged?"

But she doesn't want to take it off. She doesn't want to look at them. She doesn't want to see. She wants to hide behind it and pretend this is just a terrible dream. But she hears the horse approach. She feels the tug on the blind fold, and then it is gone. She is blinking, blinded by the sunlight, and then she sees the soldiers. She sees their leader, the one Abelas called Adahlen. She isn't bare faced like Abelas. She wears vallaslin. She looks at her and she sees so much hatred. 

Ellana thinks she knows where they are. Somewhere near the Frostback basin. It is familiar, but it doesn't matter now. They've been caught. Falon'Din won't need to read her mind.

"Are you well?" Adahlen asks, "How fares the child?" And she gestures for one of the others to approach. She doesn't wait for a response.

"I'm fine," Ellana says, but the soldier is holding a hand over her stomach. He is casting something, she feels the rush of magic. She wants to hit him. She wants to push him away, but she doubts she could. 

"The child is fine," he says, but he looks confused, uncertain, "Stronger than expected. Healthy." She wonders if something is wrong and he's too afraid to tell them. She doesn't want to think about it. She can't. The child is fine. It must be.

"You can thank the gods for that," Adahlen says, "Perhaps he will grant you a swift death instead of one by slow torture. He is furious, Abelas. What were you thinking?"

He makes a rude noise.

"That seems to be the problem," he says, "I _was_ thinking. He is a monster. It's been long enough, you should know by now."

But Adahlen doesn't care. She isn't really listening. She is too angry. And Ellana thinks that is strange. She is taking this as a personal affront somehow. An insult. 

"You had everything," she says, she snaps, "And now, you will have nothing."

"I have my soul," he says, "But that is more than I can say for you."

She looks at him like she wants to hit him with the flat side of her blade. Maybe she will. 

"I served Mythal," Abelas says, "I will not serve him."

"Get them in irons," she says, and her voice is low, threatening. She looks at Fenris. She stares and then she's scowling, "So, that's the one. Get him down from that horse." _That's the one._ The skin on the back of her arms prickles. She feels her panic spike. Falon'Din has mentioned him then. He has given special orders. 

When the soldier hits Fenris, knocks him down, Ellana hears herself scream. She reaches for him, tries to stop him, but the guard blocks her hand. Fenris hits the ground hard, but he is alright. When she looks at him, all she can see is the face Falon'Din showed her, what he will do. The empty eye sockets. The scars. He will break him and she can't bear it. Not Fenris. Never Fenris.

She feels like she is screaming, but she isn't. She can't make a sound. 

"He has something special planned for you," Adahlen says, and Ellana has never seen Fenris' face look like this. She has never seen him this angry. He spits blood in the dirt. He rubs his jaw and she can just imagine what he will do when he gets his hands on his sword.

The soldiers drops down beside him. He chains his hands behind his back. He makes him stand. He is too rough. He hurts him.

It is hard to breathe.

"You can't do this," she says.

Adahlen's gaze shifts. 

"You have had a fine time, haven't you?" she asks, "But your duty is to your husband and that little one you're carrying. You've no business running around like a common whore." She is too shocked to be angry.

And Abelas is laughing. The soldiers are chaining his hands, but he is laughing.

"You aren't going to last long, Adahlen," Abelas says, "He won't be pleased if he hears you call his wife a whore."

"I'll do just fine," she says, and she looks like she's thinking about it. She is uncertain, "But you should worry about yourself. He has something special reserved for traitors, and you are the worst. He has no choice but to make an example of you."

And Ellana is shaking. This can't be happening. They are going to---this is going to---she tries to take a breath but it catches in her throat. It sticks. 

She can't go back again. She can't watch them suffer, can't watch him hurt them, not for real. She can't. She will die. She will find a way.

"You can't take us back," she says, "Do you know what he'll do to us?" Her voice breaks. She grips the saddle so tight her finger nails bend back and it hurts.

Adahlen snorts. How can she be so cold, so uncaring?

"To you? Nothing at all. You'll go back to your nice, warm bed and your pretty clothes and a good meal," she says, and her gaze shifts inward, as if she's thinking of something else, something terrible, "We all have a place in life---this is yours. The sooner you learn to accept it, the better off you'll be. Take my advice. Whatever this is, whatever quarrel you've had with him, put it aside."

She says it as if Ellana is lucky. Her face twists and there is disgust, as if she can't fathom why she'd want to leave him. And if she can't see what's wrong with him, there is no chance this woman will show them mercy. 

Fenris and Abelas will die. And if Orana lives, he will hurt her again. He will hurt her worse than before and she will break.

"You are worse than he is," Ellana says, "He doesn't understand why he's a monster, but you have eyes, you can see. You know." She has to. There is no way anyone could know what he has done and still see him as a man. 

She can't stop shaking. She is too warm. She is getting too hot.

She is light headed. Dizzy. 

"We accept what we must," Adahlen says, but it is clear, she doesn't care. 

She knows what Falon'Din is going to do and she doesn't care. Ellana can't understand. It doesn't make sense. 

The soldier who checked the baby is staring at her. She reads concern in his eyes. Uncertainty. A thread of fear. But he doesn't speak because Adahlen is ordering them to ride. She's going to make Fenris walk behind them. She is going to make him walk until he can't walk anymore and then they're going to hurt him. She knows. She does.

"I can't go back," she says.

Adahlen laughs at her.

"You have no choice," she says. And she gestures to the soldier, their healer. She tells him to ride with Ellana, to give up his horse and take hers so she doesn't suffer the strain of leading the poor beast. 

She doesn't know what's wrong with her, but when she feels the touch of his hand, that is when she breaks. He touches her and he burns. He burns to ashes.

They all do, all of the soldiers and Adahlen. They are there and then they are gone. There is a puff of fire and smoke, and then, the air stinks of burning flesh. They are gone and only the horses remain.

Orana is screaming and Fenris is staring at her, horrified. But Abelas is quiet. He watches her and his eyes are as wide as saucers. She doesn't know if he's afraid but the rest of them are. The horses are. She is.

What has she done?

 

They don't talk. They ride. She doesn't bother with the blindfold and Fenris takes one of the dead soldiers' horses. 

Her magic was never like this. She has never done anything like this. She knows. This is Sylaise's magic. She was never that strong before. It is the only explanation.

She burned them alive and she did it without trying. She lost control. She disintegrated them. She killed them and they were only doing what they had to do. 

They couldn't have refused Falon'Din's orders. It wasn't their fault.

Fenris and Orana hate her again, and probably Abelas too, and she can't blame them. She has too much magic. She is horrifying. She is a monster. She is. 

It is dark before they stop for the night. She should have worn the blindfold, but she thinks she might be able to stay awake. She might not have to sleep. He might not have a chance to find her. 

She is surprised when Fenris helps her down from the horse. She thought it would be Abelas, because he's the only one who can still look at her. She has ruined everything. She always does.

"Are you alright?" he asks. His hands rest just above her waist, his touch light, gentle. He looks at her, finally, but she wishes he hadn't. He doesn't want to see her, she knows. He is afraid. 

"I'm fine," she says, and he lets go of her. He moves away. 

And when she looks up, Abelas is shaking his head. He is not afraid. He is sympathetic. He doesn't understand. How can he?

When she sits, she isn't graceful. She thinks, she is bigger than she should be. The baby isn't due yet but she is always struggling. 

"It can't be helped," Abelas says, "They would have killed us. You should be glad."

"I know," she says, "But the way I did it---I've never---I don't know what happened."

She doesn't mean to say anything else, but she does. She hurts and she can't stop. It spills out and he hears her. 

"I'm a monster," she says. Because she is. Not for killing them, not really. It's the how. It's the way she did it.

Abelas sighs and then he is crouching down beside her. He lets Fenris and Orana make the fire. He lets them unpack the night's supplies. 

"It was an ability Sylaise had," he says, "I suspect, when you claimed the power from her orb, it passed to you as well. You haven't had time to learn to use it. You have had no training. There is nothing wrong with you."

"You aren't a monster," he says.

But he is wrong. If she can do something like that, if she can turn people to ash just by looking at them, she is too dangerous. Solas could---Falon'din could turn people to stone. It is the same thing. They are the same. That's why he won't let her go. Why he will never let her go.

She is going to be sick.

"Oh, Ellana," Abelas says. And he sounds disappointed. She has let him down somehow. She doesn't know why she cares, but she does.

He gets up. He helps Fenris and Orana and she stares into the fire and pretends she's someone else. Somewhere else. 

And then Fenris brings her more tea. He surprises her again. Always, she thinks.

He sets the cup in front of her and he sits beside her. She steadies her hands before she picks it up, before she tries to take a drink.

It tastes almost good this time. He is getting better. He has figured it out. Orana is a good teacher, she thinks.

"Thank you," she says. She takes another drink before she sets it down.

"You saved us," he says. 

He takes her hand, twines his fingers with hers. He leans so their arms are touching. And she feels like her heart is racing too fast. She feels like she is going to cry.

"Thank you," he says. His voice is soft, and she thinks, maybe, he isn't angry after all. He isn't repulsed. He isn't afraid of her.

But she doesn't look at him. 

She wants to touch his face. She wants to kiss him, just to see, to know. But she doesn't dare.


	22. AOF: From the Vein

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe there is a way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for noncon

She is going to force herself to sleep because she thinks it's the only choice. She thinks it will help her control if she's rested and that is the most important thing. She can't risk hurting anyone. It doesn't matter if Falon'Din finds her and picks through her thoughts. It doesn't matter if he sees what she's done and hurts her for it. It is worth it if it stops her from killing anyone else.

And it isn't fair. She can burn a whole company of soldiers without so much as a thought but she can't keep him out of her dreams. She can't stop him from reading her mind, from knowing her every secret. She doesn't understand. How can this be right?

But she can't sleep.

She tries. She does. But no matter how she settles, she can't get comfortable. She can't slow her thoughts. She can't relax. 

It would be better to let the others sleep, she thinks, and take the whole night watch herself. At least then, they'd be rested. She could sleep during the day. She could ride with one of them or they could secure her to the saddle somehow, to keep her upright. 

She is surprised at how quickly her suggestion is refused. By all three of them. Even Orana. Especially Orana. She gives her one of her pretty, sad smiles and she feels chastised and shamed without so much as one word spoken.

"It isn't safe for you or the child," Abelas says, after Fenris stops grumbling. 

They don't understand.

She shuts her eyes and knows there is no point in even trying. So she pretends. She hears them drift off, their breathing evens out, slows. Except for Fenris, because he prefers to take the first watch. 

She doesn't know how long she lays there, her back twinging, before she feels something nudge her foot. She ignores it but then it happens again.

"I know you're awake," Fenris says. She opens her eyes and he is staring at her. He is sitting with his back to a tree. Just close enough.

She sighs. She sits up, her movements awkward, her back protesting.

"I can't sleep," she says.

"It won't be for much longer," he says, "Another day. Two at most. We're almost there."

And if they don't have someone who can keep Falon'Din out of her head, it won't matter. He'll come. They'll die.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asks. She shakes her head.

"I'm sore," she says, "The ground is---this is---it's just my back. It can't be helped." She stumbles over herself to explain. She hates it, but she can't stop. The earth is uneven. It's hard packed and no matter how she lays, her muscles ache. And she can't lay flat either. The weight of the baby is too heavy on her insides. It hurts worse when she tries.

Fenris is quiet for a long time and his mask falls back in place. She can't read him and it makes her nervous. She knows she's being silly. She knows why. He is not Falon'Din and he isn't going to lash out if she doesn't look at him the right way. He isn't going to hurt her if she doesn't say the right things. He has been nothing but kind, even when he was angry with her, even then. He won't hurt her. 

She knows. She does. But the fear is there all the same.

"If it would help," he says, "I can ride with you tomorrow. You can try to sleep then."

There is another strange flutter in the pit of her stomach. What is this? Her heart is beating too fast. It is strange. 

"You don't have to do that," she says, but she wants to say yes. Aside from the dream, it was pleasant.

No. It was more than pleasant. It was more than just his arms around her, his voice in her ear. It was more than just feeling safe, protected. Her breath catches and suddenly she understands. She knows what it is. 

It is no wonder Falon'Din hates him. It is no wonder he wants to hurt him. Falon'Din is going to kill Fenris because he is a jealous man and he knows she cares for him. 

And it is more than just friendship. It is more than just an infatuation. She cares and she wants to, but she has not felt something like this for anyone since Solas. No. Not cares, she thinks. It's more than that. It is. And she feels like the bottom of her stomach drops out. 

This will be another loss she can't bear.

"I know I don't have to," Fenris says, and his tone is sharp again, "I'm offering."

How is she supposed to say yes? How can she let him? If they ride into an ambush, if it is Falon'Din this time, if he sees---she knows what will happen. She knows what he'll do to him and nothing she can say or do will change it. 

She is a fool and he will die because of it.

He sighs.

"Let me help," he says, "Please."

She can't fathom why he would want to. This is her fault. This is what she deserves.

But she is weak. She looks at him and she sees the way he's looking at her and she can't say no. He wants to help and she wants him to help. 

"I would like that," she says. 

Fenris gives her the ghost of a smile. It is almost real. It is almost there. She is making a mistake. And it will be terrible. 

"Good," he says, "There's no sense in suffering when you don't have to."

He shifts. He looks away, 

"You can lean against me now if it will help your back," he says. And she thinks he is too kind. He is offering to help even though it makes him uncomfortable. Even though he'd rather not. She should not accept. It isn't nice of her, not when she knows he doesn't really want to.

But she does.

She says, "Thank you."

She sits with her back pressed against his chest. Her face is hot and she is sure she should not be doing this. But his arms come around her and she is shutting her eyes. She sighs. 

She is worse than a fool.

 

She falls asleep. She doesn't expect to, she doesn't think she can, but she does. She doesn't even realize it at first. It doesn't seem odd she is curled up under a blanket in her aravel. 

She is comfortable, warm. It is quiet. She is safe. And there are strong arms around her, holding her. She rests her head on his chest and she sighs.

"This is nice," she says. It is wonderful.

Solas makes a tired sound. He strokes her hair. He kisses the top of her head.

"Go back to sleep, vhenan," he says, his voice is still thick with sleep.

But she knows now, something is wrong. Solas never slept in her aravel. He never met clan Lavellan. He couldn't be here and neither could she, because they are all gone. She is the last Lavellan. Her aravel burned.

She looks at Solas but it is hard to tell that he isn't real. That this isn't real. It should be. It could have been.

This is the Fade, she tells herself, and she hates it. This is cruel. This isn't fair.

"What's wrong?" Solas asks when she sits up. His brow furrows. She kisses him. She rests a palm on his chest. She looks at him and she doesn't know what to say. He isn't Solas. Not really. But he is more Solas than she will ever have again and she wants to stay here like this with him. She wants to forget. The last few months haven't happened. Falon'Din is just a dream. 

But she can't. It's his eyes. They're wrong. They would never fool her, not for very long. She knows. 

"You're not---" she starts.

"Real," another voice says.

And then it's melting away. Panic spikes and she is struggling to breathe. The aravel dissolves and Solas disappears and she is sitting in the Fade and _he_ is here. Her hands are shaking. She doesn't want to stand up. She doesn't want to look at him. She doesn't think she can.

"It's bad enough I have to wear his face," he says, "But to see you with him is abhorrent. I wish I could wipe him from your memory."

"I'm sorry," she says. She wants to be small. She doesn't want him to see her. 

"Where have you been?" he asks, and his voice goes soft, quiet. 

He crouches in front of her. He tilts her head back. He looks at her and his expression is blank.

"I did something terrible," she says. And she is screaming at herself to stop. She doesn't have to tell him. She shouldn't. She should make him pull it from her thoughts. She should fight him. 

She should try. At the very least, she should try. 

But she can't. Why can't she? 

"I know you did, vhenan," he says, "I know."

She can't tell if he's angry. She can't guess what he's going to do. He stares at her with those eyes and he waits and she is going to cry. He is in her thoughts again. She knows. He can see everything.

"You should have waited until you were safe," he says, "I would have punished her myself."

She doesn't know what he means but then he's kissing her and that is the best outcome. He isn't angry when he kisses her like that. He isn't going to hurt her when he kisses her like that.

"You are not a whore," he says when he breaks.

Oh. He means Adahlen. Her insult. He thinks that's why. He thinks---no. That isn't why she killed them. He has to know. She can't hide it. It will be worse if he thinks she's lying. If she tries.

"I didn't do it intentionally," she says, "It was an accident---" She lost control. 

"Shhh," he says, kissing her again, "It's alright. I understand."

He pulls her to her feet and he is gentle. He moves his hands. He cups her face and rests his forehead against hers. She thinks he's going to snap. Any moment now. He's going to turn and lash out and there will be nothing she can do. He will see the wrong things in her thoughts and he will rage.

"Are you angry with me?" she asks and she sounds pathetic. She is disgusting. She is weak.

She is so ashamed.

"No, vhenan," he says and she is hit by a wave of relief so strong it almost makes her knees buckle. This is what's wrong with her. She shouldn't care what he thinks but she does. It shouldn't affect her like this but it does. 

It hurts to breathe. To think. How did he do this to her? She thought she was stronger. 

"We will have to begin your training sooner than I'd anticipated," he says, "I had thought it could wait until after the birth, it would be better---but you are clever and strong, my beautiful wife."

"Do not try to burn anyone else," he says, "It could put too much of a strain on your body. It could harm our child. Stay calm. Wait for me. I will come."

"How are you?" he asks, "And the baby? Are you both well?"

"We're fine," she says. Aside from everything. Tired and sore. Hungry. Weak. So very foolish.

She is going to touch his face. She doesn't know why, doesn't really want to, but she does. He catches her wrist and something ugly flits across his face. She thinks he is sifting through her thoughts again. He is seeing something he doesn't like. Of course. It was only a matter of time.

His breath rushes out and she wants to run.

She has done something wrong again. 

"Sometimes I think you delight in hurting me," he says.

"I don't," she says, and she still doesn't know, she can't guess, "I don't know what you---"

He hits her and she is too surprised to say anything else. He pushes her flat and gets her wrists above her head and he is squeezing too hard. He is leaning his weight on her. He is forcing the air out of her lungs. He is hurting her.

"I am your husband, Ellana, not him," he says, "You will remember that the next time he tries to touch you. You will send him away and you will put him out of your thoughts. Do not push me."

He is talking about Fenris, she realizes, and she remembers. His arms around her, her back pressed to his chest---he is holding her. Helping her sleep. And she was thinking about---she was---

Oh.

Falon'Din is jealous. Because she cares. He is furious. He has seen how she feels about Fenris and he knows.

He lets go for a moment, but he doesn't let her up. He gets his hands under her skirt. He tears her smalls. He wedges himself between her legs and she is trying not to fight him. It only ever makes it worse. Especially here. 

She tries to breathe. She tries to look at the sky. She tries to be somewhere else.

"I haven't done anything," she says. Fenris is only helping her sleep. He is only holding her. It is innocent.

But Falon'Din is inside her again. He isn't listening. He doesn't care.

"Ar lath ma," he says, over and over again, his lips pressed against her skin, his breath hot. He hurts her and he doesn't hear her and she can't wake up. He keeps her here until she says _it_. Until he believes her.

_Ir abelas, vhenan, ar lath ma. Ir abelas, vhenan, ar lath ma. Ir abelas, vhenan, ar lath ma. There is only you. There is only you. He is nothing._

She thinks this is never going to end. She thinks she is going to go mad.

Fenris wakes her when Falon'Din breaks her other wrist. She must have screamed, she thinks. He holds her too tight but then she's lurching. He's helping her to the side. He's holding her hair back as she empties her stomach.

She can't have this with him. She can't let herself be close because it is only making it worse. Falon'Din will know. He will always know.

"Tell me," he says. Falon'Din will kill him because she loves him.

She does. 

"I can't," she says. But she means they can't. This can't. Whatever it is, she has to stop it. She has to kill it. Somehow.

She can't weather Falon'Din's rage. It is too much. 

But Fenris touches her face and she can't speak. He looks at her like he knows, like he can see it all right there in her eyes. But he couldn't. He can't possibly know. 

And when he looks at her like that she can't push him away. She isn't strong enough. 

She is selfish. She is weak. 

"We'll stop him," Fenris says.

He kisses her cheek. He holds her even after she stops shaking. He holds her and she loves him and she can't tell him.

She can't.

She doesn't try to sleep again. 

 

They ride into Stone-Bear Hold and it is a shock to see it without the Avvar. There are only elves now, not many, not nearly enough. She doesn't see Storvacker either and that makes her feel worse. 

She does not expect to see Merrill or Mahariel or Morrigan, but they are here. Abelas calls to the guards and Fenris helps her down from the horse and Merrill is calling out to them, running, waving, smiling.

She hugs Orana. She makes an adorable sound. She is happy. She is Merrill.

But she looks different.

She is brighter. When Ellana looks at her, she sees new threads of magic. She sees shimmering gold. She sees light. And this is not like Dirthamen. This is nothing like Dirthamen.

Before Ellana can stop her, she's hugging her.

"You're alright," Merrill says, "I'm so glad to see you again---and oh my. This is new." She pulls back and her gaze flits down to Ellana's belly and back up again.

Ellana can't speak, she's too busy trying to understand.

"What's wrong?" Merrill asks, concern wrinkling her forehead, and then her eyes are wide and she's grinning again, "Oh, that, me. Surprise, I suppose."

"We found Elgar'nan's orb," Merrill continues.

Oh.

_Oh._ That would explain it.

"But I thought Mahariel would---" she doesn't finish. She hadn't really thought they could find it. She hadn't really believed. 

"It was amazing," Merrill says, and she is like a hurricane. She is overwhelming and Ellana can't follow her, "I've never felt anything like---oh, but I haven't told you about the temple. And right under Minrathous---I brought souvenirs. Do you want to---"

Fenris' hand is on her elbow and he is putting himself between them. He looks at Merrill and he shakes his head. He puffs out a breath.

"Let her sit first, Merrill, it was a long ride," he says. And Merrill's cheeks flush.

"Oh, of course," she says, "That was silly of me. We have a place for you ready. You'll want to rest. And food! We have plenty of food now. I can have something sent up if you'd like. And I can show you the books! You wouldn't believe what we found. Are you---"

"Merrill," Fenris says.

"Right, of course, " she says. And she stands there, looking up at him, her face uncertain.

He sighs again.

"Do you know where we're supposed to stay?" he asks, "Our rooms, Merrill."

"Oh, sorry, yes," she says, "I'm supposed to show you. I'm sorry. I don't know where my head is." And then she's grabbing Orana's hand and they are hurrying along the path. Hurrying. As if she has a chance to keep up. Orana looks overwhelmed too. Uncertain. She glances back at them and it looks like she wants to be rescued.

"We should have the healer look at you," Fenris says, and he is glaring at Merrill, already so far ahead. 

He is probably right but she is too out of breath, already, to respond. The path is too steep. It is difficult to navigate. She will be glad when she can run again, when she can look down and see her feet. When she doesn't have to think about being careful.

She is glad to see a real bed again. Her room is small but more than serviceable. She even has a chair. A real one. And there are soft furs. There are pillows. There is a change of clothes that will actually fit her. The shirt is loose and long and meant for an Avvar woman. It hangs down past her knees. She is glad to find a skirt as well because pants have been difficult as of late.

It is just a moment, she knows, but she almost feels like herself. 

She sits and then the healer is knocking on the door. The woman is Dalish. She wears June's vallaslin. And she is not alone. Abelas and Merrill are with her. And Fenris.

She is surprised to see Abelas so soon. He couldn't have found a Dreamer yet. But she hopes. She thinks there might be a chance until she looks at Fenris.

He doesn't look pleased.

"Is something wrong?" she asks.

"It will take time to send word to the other camps," Abelas says, "We don't have a Dreamer here."

She is disappointed. Worried. They don't have time to wait. The next time Falon'Din is in her dreams, he'll know they're in Stone-Bear Hold. He'll send his army. He'll slaughter them. She got her hopes up for nothing. It was a mistake.

"I should leave," she says and she starts to stand. She tries but Abelas stops her. 

"You should sit," he says, "We are not without options. We can keep him out of your mind. It won't stop him from finding you in the Fade, but it will give you a small measure of protection."

And Merrill is beaming. She doesn't wait for Abelas to finish and he is amused. She is surprised she doesn't see a flicker of irritation when she all but pushes him aside.

"It's really quite simple," she says, "I've worked it out."

Blood magic. An old spell. A new modification. Fenris is trying not to show how horrified he is. Trying and failing. Abelas is pleased. Merrill is confident. And Ellana doesn't care what it is they want to try. She doesn't care what she has to do. If it will keep him out of her mind, she'll do anything they ask. 

"Do it," she says. She can barely get the words out and Fenris is backing away. He is leaning against the wall to give Merrill more room. He isn't happy but he doesn't argue. 

She is surprised. She expects him to protest. 

She is glad he doesn't. She doesn't have the energy for it.

She wants this to be over. She wants to be done. She wants to be free. 

Merrill cuts her palm. There is a rush of blood and magic and then it's over. Ellana doesn't feel any different. She doesn't know if it worked. She has no way of knowing until tonight. Until she sleeps and he finds her and he tries. 

"Thank you," she says. 

'It's no trouble," Merrill says, "I rather enjoyed the challenge. I have a few more things I could try---if you're up for it. I have to read up on---"

She isn't really listening. She can't. She is trying not to think about what will happen after he finds out, but it keeps creeping up. It screams at her. He will be angry. She thinks he will be worse than he has ever been. She doesn't want to be alone but she always is in the Fade.

Suddenly, the weight of what they've done is too heavy. 

"Enough, no," Fenris says, and his voice is too loud, it breaks through her thoughts, "You are not using her to test your blood magic."

The healer agrees. She shoos Merrill and Abelas and Fenris away, She sits beside Ellana and smiles and Ellana almost feels at ease again.

"My name is Lanaya," she says, "Do you prefer Ellana or Inquisitor? Or Lavellan?" 

The question catches her off guard. She doesn't even remember. It has been so long since anyone asked. 

"Ellana or Lavellan is fine," she says. She is not the Inquisitor. Not anymore.

Lanaya is calm and she is quiet. She doesn't look at her with any kind of judgment. She doesn't show any disapproval. She doesn't talk over her. Ellana feels herself relax. She uncoils for the first time in months. Some of the tension eases from her chest. And it feels strange.

"This spell won't hurt you or the baby," Lanaya says, "It will let me see how you both are. Is that alright?"

She nods. It is nice to be asked first. Adahlen's healer didn't. And Falon'Din never asked before he did something. 

"Have you thought about names yet?"

Ellana shakes her head. The choice will be out of her hands anyway. It seemed pointless to go to all the trouble. Falon'Din will ignore her and make the final decision. He will give it a ridiculous name. He will give it something it will struggle to learn to spell and she will hate.

"Well, now's a good time to start," Lanaya says, "You're what...seven, probably eight months along? Sometimes they like to surprise us and come early." It is hard not to bristle. She has gotten big, she knows, but she is not that far along. She doesn't look that far along.

"Not quite," she says, and then she tries to count back. How many months has it been? Not eight. It couldn't be. No, she's right. She isn't that far along. She has plenty of time to think about names and worry. 

"Only six," she says, "Do you think something's wrong---" and it hurts to think about it. Lanaya flushes a little but her smile doesn't waver.

"Well, I put my foot in it, didn't I? Don't worry," she says, "Every woman is different. Every baby is different. The father's one of the ancient Elvhen, am I right? I'd wager they tend to be a little bigger than we're used to."

It would make sense. 

But still. Eight months. No. She hadn't realized that was how she looks. She hadn't really thought--- 

Lanaya casts her spell and holds her hand over Ellana's belly. Her forehead wrinkles. Some of her smile fades. It is the same look Adahlen's healer gave her. Something is wrong. Ellana is afraid.

"What is it?" she asks, and she is too tense.

Lanaya shakes her head.

"Nothing," she says and she sounds surprised, "The child is just...it's a first for me. An Elvhen baby. The life force is stronger than I expected. It's brighter."

The explanation doesn't comfort her. She doesn't feel any better. The baby is brighter? What does that mean? She thinks of Solas. She wonders if it is just a difference in magic, maybe Falon'Din's spell. She hopes that is all it is. She hopes it's not something horrible. The baby is fine. His magic has made sure of it. She hasn't put the child in danger.

Lanaya shakes her head.

"Please don't worry," she says, "Everything really is fine. Better than fine. You're both doing well, all things considered. But you need rest. If I see you running yourself ragged all over camp, we're going to have words. Send that man of yours if you need something. And don't you dare let Mahariel talk you into doing anything. I'm serious."

Ellana believes her. She has no intention of running around. She is exhausted. She could sleep for a week. But Lanaya is wrong. Fenris isn't her man. She can't ask him to help her. She can't let him.

She doesn't want the night to come. 


	23. AOF: To Watch Over Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe they've found a bit of luck.

She catches them staring at the swell of her stomach. The ancients mostly, the sentinels. Even Merrill notices.

She shakes her head.

"It's nothing to worry about," Merrill says, "For a lot of them, this is the first they've seen of a baby. I've heard a lot of talk. Everyone's excited."

She doubts that.

But then she finds a carefully wrapped bundle on her pillow. Tiny shirts and hats, all carefully woven and knit and stitched. She doesn't recognize the style but the person who made them was skilled beyond anything she has ever seen.

And this is just the first day. Merrill is right when she says they're excited. And Ellana feels strange knowing this. She should be too, more so, but she hasn't been. She doesn't know how she feels about it at all.

All she has is fear and anger. She doesn't know if she has room for anything else.

And that isn't fair to the child. It deserves better. It deserves kind parents and a happy life. It doesn't deserve this nightmare. It doesn't deserve the father it has. The monster.

Merrill gives her books from Tevinter to read. Spell books that could be useful if she can sit and focus and read.

But they remind her of Dorian. And Dorian reminds her of everything.

No one knows where Velanna and Sera and Zevran are. Or even Cole. No one knows if they're alive or if they've found Andruil's orb. And no one wants to talk about it. They look uncomfortable and change the subject. They don't know if anything terrible has happened but they don't want to upset her. They look at her and decide she is too delicate, too fragile. They don't understand.

She shared Falon'Din's bed. She is carrying his child. She is not so fragile she can't talk about Sera and her missing friends.

She thinks if she wasn't like this she could have gone after them. She could have tried to trace their steps. She could have tried to follow them. She could have helped. She would have instead of sitting here, useless.

She hopes they are alive. She hopes they can find their way to one of Abelas' camps.

She hopes Falon'Din doesn't find them first.

But she doesn't think their luck will hold.

Fenris pulls her aside. He asks if she needs someone to watch over her while she sleeps and she is not expecting it. She doesn't know how he knows, but she was thinking about it. She was looking at the sky and dreading nightfall.

"Do you want me to stay?" he asks, "Just in case. I can wake you if..." He lets it trail off.

She'd be lying if she says no. She does want him to stay. She is afraid to sleep. She's afraid of the moment Falon'Din realizes what they've done, if Merrill's spell works. She hopes it does. She hopes it doesn't. She is torn, and how stupid is that?

"Well?" he asks, and he sounds impatient, uncertain.

She nods and her face is too warm. She doesn't want to know what he thinks of how red she is. She is ridiculous.

He settles in with a book and it takes forever for her to fall asleep. Every sound makes her jump. Every flicker of light outside the window. She should have asked for a sleeping drought.

But eventually, she is too tired to fight it. She shuts her eyes and she sleeps.

. 

She doesn't recognize the place he creates but it looks ancient. It is Elvhen. It is beautiful and strange.

He sits in the window and he is unarmored. He wears soft, black silks and for a moment she can pretend he is Solas. But his eyes ruin the lie. She looks into them and she sees him for what he is.

"Vhenan," he says, and he is quiet. He should not be this calm, she thinks. When he stands, she flinches. She steps back and he looks at her and it is almost like she has just slapped him across the face.

He pauses and then his expression is twisting. He doesn't try to hide his surprise.

"What did you do?" he asks.

He is heart broken. He is horrified. He sounds like she has hurt him somehow. She has wronged him, betrayed him, but that is insane. He is in the wrong, not her. Keeping him out of her mind wasn't a violation. It was the right thing to do to protect herself. He doesn't have the right to be angry. He doesn't make sense.

He can't read her mind anymore. He can't pick through her thoughts and punish her for thinking about Fenris. He can't use her to track them. Whatever happens next, wherever his anger takes them, it is worth it.

"I didn't do anything," she says, but her voice is not steady. She doesn't feel brave.

"I can't---" he says, "They've done something. I can't hear you, I can't connect. They've hurt you."

He starts to reach for her. She steps back. She shakes her head.

"No," she says, "They haven't hurt me. I'm fine."

"You aren't fine," he says, "I don't understand." She thinks he is trying not to snap at her. He is trying to sway her, manipulate her, and it is unsettling. This is new, she thinks, different. She doesn't know what to expect. She doesn't like that she doesn't know.

She is not going to tell him about Merrill and her spell. He has no way of knowing what they've done. 

She takes a breath. Maybe she will be ok.

"Ellana," he says.

"You can't keep doing this," she says. She remembers what it was like to be brave once. She wants to be like that again.

"Doing what?" he asks, "Trying to save you? Vhenan, I can't stop. Look at what they've done to you. I can't let them hurt you any more."

Of course. He would believe the worst of them. He would over look everything he's done to paint himself as the hero, fighting to save her. 

"They haven't," she says,"They wouldn't. But you have. You always do and you have to stop. If you care anything for this baby, you will." But he doesn't want to believe her. He doesn't want her to be right. 

She can't stand the look on his face. The confusion. How can he pretend he doesn't know? How can he look at her like that? She can almost feel his hands on her body. She can see what he's going to do when she goes to far, when she says the wrong thing. How can he pretend after all of that?

"I frightened you," he says, "I didn't mean---you know me. You know I didn't mean it. I would never."

He pauses. He sighs. He is insane and he thinks he can convince her with a soft voice and gentle words. After all he's done. After everything. He looks at her and she thinks he is going to touch her. She will scream if he does. She can't bear it again.

"This is foolish. It will take longer to find you if I can't---," he says, "Ellana, you don't have to be afraid. Don't shut me out." But she doesn't want him to find her. She doesn't want him to know her thoughts. This is how she wants it to be, finally.

'You hurt me," she says. He hurts everyone. He is a monster and she doesn't love him. She never did. She never will.

"I didn't," he says, "This is only the Fade. We only ever argued." Only the Fade. Only ever argued. He has done terrible things to her and he says it was only an argument in the Fade. He is lying to himself. He did far more than scream at her and it was just as real here as it was in the waking world. She felt just as much pain.

He is calm and then he isn't. There is distance between them and then there isn't. He catches her arms. He pulls her against him and he is squeezing her too tight.

He kisses her and it feels desperate. She needs him to stop. She needs him to stop touching her. She can't breathe.

"Ar lath ma," he says, "Ir abelas. I never meant to---you are my world, Ellana. You know that."

She can't speak, and when he looks at her again, there is a spark of concern.

"Tell me where you are. Help me bring you home," he says. 

Never, she thinks. Never. She hates him. She hates him more than anyone, more than anything. She isn't going back. She doesn't have to now. 

"Ellana?" he asks, when he sees her face, her expression. She doesn't try to disguise it, "Why are you fighting me? What's wrong?" He sounds confused.

She is going mad. She must be because he can't really not understand. He can't.

"Let go of me," she says, but he tightens his hold, reflexively. He pulls her closer. There is so much hurt on his face. As if he's the one. As if she's the monster. As if he can't put the pieces together, as if he's trying, struggling..

"Tell me what they've done to you," he says, and his voice breaks, "I can fix this. Let me find you, vhenan. Come home."

" No," she says, "Never." 

There is something ugly in his eyes. She feels the air change around him. She sees his thoughts shift and she wishes she knew what he was thinking. She wishes she could make him let go.

"You're with _him_ ," he says. She knows who he means. She doesn't have to read his mind to know that much. Fenris. He is thinking about Fenris and all the horrible things he's going to do to him.

"No," she says, but she hears the lie. She hears her voice crack.

"You are," he says, "You've let the mongrel into your bed. You've let him touch you. Defile you." And his voice is thick with emotion. It is loud in her ear. The force of it spatters her face with spittle.

She would laugh because he is wrong but there is nothing funny about this. About him. Nothing she says will matter. Nothing she says will ease his temper.

"I wish I had," she says.

"What did you say?" And he is too shocked now to be angry. He is too surprised. As if he can't believe she'd say that, as if it is impossible. Surely, she wouldn't. Surely she loves him too much.

"I said I wish I had," she says, "Because he would never hurt me. He would never force himself on me. He is not a monster. He is nothing like you."

The silence is terrible. His face is terrible. She has gone too far now. She must have. She knows.

"What spell did they use?" he asks. She doesn't know how he can sound this calm. His face goes blank. It is almost unreadable, but she sees a tremor. She sees a flicker. His rage is tucked underneath, barely contained, barely concealed. She is glad he can't find her.

"I wish you would die," she says.

"What spell?" he asks, his voice rising. His nails dig into her skin, drawing blood. But she doesn't care. 

She screams and she hits him and the mask breaks. He is angry again. He yells at her. He forces her down. He is going to---he is---

"Ellana!"

She doesn't know where she is at first. She is still in the dream. She can feel his hands and she can hear him.

And then she knows. Fenris is sitting on the edge of the bed. He is holding her arms, holding her up. He is looking at her and she is awake. She has forgotten to breathe and he doesn't look like he has remembered either.

For a moment, she's afraid. She thinks of Sylaise's horrible magic and she thinks she has to stay calm. She has to find a way because she can't risk Fenris. She can't.

She tries to slow her breathing. She tries to calm herself but she is failing. The corners of her eyes are stinging. She feels the heat. She is going to cry and he's going to see it.

She is stupid. There's no reason to cry. Falon'Din couldn't read her mind. He isn't going to find them. She is fine. He didn't have a chance to hurt her this time. 

Fenris was here. He stopped it. He saved her. Everything is fine.

But she can't stop.

She stares at the point just past his head and her shoulders are shaking. She can't look at him. She is crying and she can't stop. She doesn't want him to see---

His arms come around her and she doesn't know what she's supposed to do. She doesn't expect this, she doesn't expect him to hold her, but he does.

"He's insane," she says, because she can't stop herself, "He thinks I'm---he thinks I could---"

"He can't get to you," he says, "You're safe. I promise. You are safe."

But she isn't. None of them are. He is angry again and focused on Fenris and he is worse when he's angry. She already knows what he intends for him.

"You don't understand," she says, "You don't know what he's going to do to you when he finds you. He thinks you're---he thinks I've---"

And it is too much.

"I'm sorry," Fenris says, and she can barely hear him, "I'm sorry." He says it over and over again and she doesn't understand. He's not the one to blame. He hasn't done anything wrong.

She doesn't dare go back to sleep tonight.

 

Fenris leaves early to meet with Abelas. Someone brings food, real food that doesn't smell disgusting. So she sits, and she eats, and she reads one of the books Merrill sent over and she is bored out of her mind.

When she ventures out, finally, Mahariel is waiting. He is standing in a rather trampled patch of dirt and if she had to guess she'd say he'd been standing there a while. It surprises her. She wasn't expecting to see him.

His smile is crooked. It is uneven. It doesn't reach his eyes. He looks...uneasy.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

And she hopes he isn't here to ask for a favor.

"Nothing, lethallan," he says, "I wanted to see you. I meant to come earlier, but I wasn't sure if I should."

"Why shouldn't you?" she asks.

"I'm pushy," he says, "I have been warned by no less than four people that I'm not to bother you."

Oh.

She doesn't know what to say.

He hands her a quilt. It isn't very big. It isn't meant for her, she thinks, because it is very small. The stitches are even and perfect. The squares are cut from Dales Loden Wool and Highever Weave and Lustrous cotton. There is no clever, fancy pattern. But it is beautiful work.

"For the baby," he says, "It was supposed to be bigger, but I ran out of...well, everything."

She stares at the blanket and it takes a moment for her to understand.

"Wait," she says, rubbing the lustrous cotton edge between her fingers, "You made this?" He couldn't have. When would he have the time?

"Don't look at me like that. I'm not thoughtful," he says, "I keep scraps to work on when I can't sleep. For my hands. The joints get a bit stiff. Sewing helps. It just so happened there was enough of the nicer material to make something that didn't look like a drunken donkey pieced it together."

But his smile reaches his eyes. He softens. He looks a little embarrassed and self conscious as if she's going to crush him if she hates it. But this is a beautiful quilt. She couldn't hate it if she tried.

"I had no idea you were so talented," she says, "It's beautiful."

And it is the one of the few gifts that haven't come from _him_. Like the pretty shirts and hats someone left in her room, it is one of the few gifts she doesn't hate. 

She folds it over her arm and smooths the creases. There is something tight in her chest. She is very warm.

"Thank you," she says.

He hugs her. He pauses long enough to whisper in her ear.

"Be sure to tell them it was just a friendly visit," he says, "I didn't ask you to do anything."

"What?" she asks.

She has a moment to be confused before he pulls away. But then Merrill is dragging him off and Fenris is glaring like he's going to yell at him. And she is nervous. There is no reason to be, but she is.

"He was only giving me a present," she says. She tries to smile. Mahariel is not really in any danger. But he has earned the reputation of demanding ridiculous things. She is surprised so many people are ready to jump to "protect" her. She hadn't thought they would.

Fenris looks at the quilt and his eyebrows go up.

"So that's what it was for," he says, "He spent the last five hours making a general nuisance of himself over the damned thing."

"What do you mean?" she asks.

"He said he didn't have enough of the blue," he says, "Just so you know, some of that is probably stolen."

"He's not allowed in the stores without an escort anymore," he continues.

She doesn't know why but that is funny. It has been a long time since she felt like she wanted to laugh.

"He said it was just scraps he'd been working on," she says.

He snorts.

"The red was a shirt five hours ago. The pinkish red was scraps from the armorer. The blue is probably from a bolt stolen from the stores, but he's pretending he found it while he was in Tevinter. Merrill confirmed they did not, in fact, bring any fabric back."

"He pieced it together in five hours," Fenris continues, "I watched him. He was supposed to be listening to Abelas."

Oh.

Well.

"Did you need anything?" Fenris asks.

It takes a moment to shift. She is still thinking about Mahariel and wondering why he felt he had to concoct a ridiculous lie.

"I was hoping to speak with Abelas," she says.

But Abelas is already gone. He and Morrigan have left to look for a Dreamer in the other camps. There is no way to know when they'll be back. She sighs and she thinks about how tired she is. She will have to ask Merrill if she can track down someone who can help her. She won't risk hurting any of them with her magic.

She won't.

Fenris has a strange look on his face again. She doesn't know what it means, but she doesn't mind. She is glad he is here.

"Was there anything else you needed?" he asks, and he sounds tense. He looks tense.

She doesn't want to go back into her room, because if she does, she'll sit and think. There is too much in her head.

She touches his arm and she doesn't know where she finds her courage.

"Walk with me?" she asks. It is too hard to smile. It is too hard to breathe.

He looks terrified, but then his face softens. He almost smiles and she can breathe again.

"Of course," he says. _Of course._ There is something fluttering in her stomach again. 

They walk.

There is a ruckus near the entrance. Near the guards. She sees the cluster of people and she goes tense. Fenris puts a hand on her arm and stops her. He moves ahead. He looks.

There is something there, she thinks, someone. And she is afraid because of Falon'Din. They can't have been found. Not now. Not so soon.

"Who?" she asks, "Fenris, what can you see? Who is it?"

But when he looks at her, she sees relief. Whoever it is, it isn't Falon'Din. It isn't an attack.

She tries to push ahead, to get a better look, but all she can see is a mob of people. All she can hear is the murmur of their excitement. She sees Mahariel running, hears him shouting. She sees blond hair. And she knows.

Sera, Velanna, and Zevran are safe.

They've come back.


	24. AOF: And The Aravels Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn't know why he's afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for noncon

Mahariel catches Zevran up and kisses him. His mouth, his cheeks, his jaw. Over and over again and then he is laughing, hugging him. He shuts his eyes and just holds on for a moment.

And then she sees Sera.

Sera is threaded with a deep, dark blue. They have found Andruil's magic and it is coursing through her. She seems fine, the same, not nearly as furious as Ellana thought she would be. But they have also found something else.

Velanna sets what looks like a puzzle box on a table when they gather. The box is marked with blue lyrium runes, ancient elvhen letters. She doesn't know what it is exactly, but she knows what she thinks it might be.

"Another orb?" she asks, "Ghilan'nain's?" Because who else would keep their orb with Andruil's? And it is still locked, the power carefully sealed away.

Fenris has a strange look on his face, but he doesn't speak. He doesn't balk at its presence. He doesn't suggest they burn it or break it or bury it under an ocean.

Mahariel plucks it off the table. He turns it over in his hands. Nothing happens. 

He is disappointed.

He hands it to Zevran and Zevran passes it to Merrill and it is the same. Nothing happens. She starts to pass it to Ellana, but that is when Fenris speaks.

"Are you sure that's wise just now?"

Oh. Because of the baby.

She doesn't know. She hesitates. Merrill tries to give it to him instead and he seems to consider it before he shakes his head. Merrill sets it down on the table. Maybe Abelas when he returns. Maybe Morrigan. Maybe someone else in the camp. Anyone.

There is nothing more to do but wait.

No one unlocks the orb.

Sera leans over to whisper something in Merrill's ear and then they're both laughing. They leave together. Mahariel is kissing Zevran again. They will be the next to leave, she thinks, and then she's right. They go. And Velanna is already gone. She has made her escape silently. Ellana missed it.

Fenris stares at Ghilan'nain's orb like it's pile of steaming dragon shit. He leans on his palms. He shuts his eyes for a moment. He shakes his head.

He is...thinking about trying?

"What's wrong?" she asks.

He sighs and stands up straight. 

"I've been around Mahariel for too long, I'm actually considering it," he says, but he sounds doubtful. 

"It's alright if you don't," she says.

"It wouldn't unlock for anyone, I don't know why I'm worried it will unlock for me," he says.

He is right. This is Ghilan'nain. It's possible there's a sequence of runes they have to press or a way they have to twist them to solve the box. After everyone else has tried and failed, it is unlikely anything will happen from just touching it.

She picks it up and Fenris starts to protest. He makes a sound she can't interpret but it doesn't matter because nothing happens. She holds it, turns it over. She presses the runes. She stares at it. 

She doesn't unlock the magic. She sets it down.

"Well, so much for that," she says, "There's probably a trick to it. I wouldn't worry."

But he doesn't look convinced.

A thought strikes her. They will have to put the box somewhere. They can't leave it out like this, where anyone could steal it. They can't leave it unattended. 

She reaches for the supply bag. She thinks, she'll put it inside and keep it with her until they decide what to do with it, but Fenris stops her. He takes a breath. 

He picks it up.

He touches it and the lyrium runes light up. His lyrium tattoos light up. His body starts to seize and he makes a wild sound. He tries to throw the box, drop it, get it away from him, but he can't. He can't let go.

Shining, white magic pours out of it and into him and then it is crumbling into dust.

She stares. She forgets to breathe.

He did it. Of course. The one who didn't want to touch it, who didn't want to try. The one who doesn't want the magic at all. He looks at her and he is horrified. He is afraid.

He is angry.

She was wrong to tell him not to worry.

She thinks he's going to yell at her. She waits for it, but he doesn't. He leaves her standing here. He walks away. He runs. 

And she can tell he doesn't want her to follow.

 

She looks for him later, when she thinks he might not mind. She doesn't find him. No one has seen him. He is nowhere.

It isn't her fault but it is. She didn't know it would happen but it doesn't matter. 

She tells Velanna when she finds her in the Feast Hall. And that's where Lanaya catches her. She tells her to sit down because she looks terrible. She looks like she isn't eating enough. She looks exhausted. She probably does, but not for the reasons Lanaya thinks.

Velanna tells her about Andruil's temple and the Eye of Tallo. She tells her about a ghostly sentinel they met there and she tells her about Sera. They talk for as long as she can drag it out because she doesn't want to go back to her room. She doesn't want to sit alone.

But she has to go. It is getting dark and she is tired. Velanna walks her back and she hopes Abelas has found a Dreamer, wherever he is.

When she opens her door, she is surprised.

Fenris is sleeping on the floor by the foot of her bed. He doesn't wake when she moves, when she shuts the door. He doesn't move when she drapes a blanket over him. He is out cold. He smells like he's been drinking. 

But he is here. 

Something twists in the pit of her stomach. 

She sits. She summons a wisp. She tries to read.

When she eventually falls asleep, when _he_ finds her, he is different. She feels him first, but she doesn't see him. He is hiding, watching, she thinks.

The Fade looks like home. She sees her people, the aravels. She sees the children. She smells the meat roasting over the fire. She hears laughter. It is good to be here again, to remember.

But he is watching from somewhere, tainting it all.

She doesn't want him to see this. She doesn't want him to be here.

After a while, he decides he is tired of lurking. He appears slowly, he fades into view. He is not wearing armor this time. He is dressed in white silks and soft white furs and sapphires. He freezes the camp but he doesn't banish it. Her people are as still as statues. 

He doesn't smile. He waits.

"I don't want to see you," she says.

"How are you feeling today? Better I hope," he says. His tone is light but she isn't fooled. He is seething. He is tense. He is holding his anger just under the surface.

"Worse now that you're here," she says.

"I am tired of these childish games," he snaps, "Stop playing and come home."

"I am home," she says, '"Anywhere away from you is home."

"I will tear the world apart to find you," he says. And he is raging. He is crowding her. He is shaking from the force of it.

She thinks he's going to hit her so she turns her head. She shuts her eyes and waits. She shouldn't have said anything. She should have just let him talk. She should have let him pretend.

But he doesn't hit her. She waits, and nothing happens, and when she opens her eyes again he is staring. He looks crest fallen. Devastated. Another act meant to manipulate her. 

"We were happy," he says, he touches her throat. With his thumb, he rubs lazy circles in the skin,"We will be again." And his gaze is too intense. 

"Once he is dead," he continues. 

And she knows who he means. 

"It won't change anything," she says, "I will only hate you more. Every person you hurt, every one you kill, that's what it does to me."

"And when he is dead, I'll hang his body up by the main gate, next to Abelas, as a warning," he continues, he doesn't even acknowledge she has spoken, "No one will touch you again. No one but me."

He lets go of her and the camp unfreezes. He lets them move, lets them go about their business. He watches for a while, and then he glances at her, and then he hurts them. He slaughters them. He burns the aravels and the children and Keeper Deshanna.

He twists her arms behind her when she tries to hit him. He brings the dead back and starts again. He breaks them. Over and over again. He does. 

And when he tires of it, he makes his soldiers appear and they hurt them in worse ways. She hears their screams and then she is screaming too. This will never happen. They are already dead, but knowing it doesn't help. She can't watch. She can't breathe.

"Is this what you want to happen?" he asks. He whispers it in her ear and he is pulling her close again, her arms still twisted behind her back, "Anyone I find in your camps will die. They will suffer and they will burn and it will be your fault, my love. Every death is my gift to you."

"Unless you come home," he says, " I will stop if you do. I will be merciful."

He is lying. He doesn't know how to be merciful. He doesn't know what the word even means.

"I will forgive you," he says, "We are but flesh and flesh is weak"

And he is forcing her to her knees. He is taking her from behind. Too rough. She is not wet enough and then she is. He changes the Fade. He changes her and she wishes she could kill him here and he would die in the waking world.

But it will never be that simple. She can't hurt him. 

When she wakes, Fenris is snoring. She tries not to make any noise. She tries to shut her eyes and slow her breathing---she counts each breath like Abelas showed her but it takes longer to work this time. It is harder to blot out Falon'Din's face, his voice. Everything.

 

Fenris doesn't want to talk. 

"I'm sorry," he says. He looks away. He flinches when she moves so she steps back. She tries to tell him it's fine, everything is fine.

He disappears again. She doesn't see him until nightfall. And it is the same the next day. And the next.

He wakes her when she needs him to. Somehow, he knows. He always knows. But she thinks he's avoiding her. It feels like he is and she would be lying if she said it didn't hurt.

It's like he's afraid to come too close. He's afraid to touch her. 

Abelas doesn't return and the days become weeks. They are all worried. The only thing that makes her believe he's all right is Falon'Din. If he had caught him, he would be too pleased to hide it. He would want to gloat.

But he doesn't. Not about Abelas. Never Abelas.

The spell Falon'Din put on her triggers when she ventures out to the Feast Hall. She feels pain and contractions and then she's doubling over. One of the sentinels helps her to her room. Lanaya threatens to post a guard outside her door if she doesn't stay in bed. 

And that is how Fenris finds them. He is out of breath from running. He is afraid again. 

Lanaya doesn't stop talking but her gaze flits to him and back again.

"Whatever that spell is, it won't last forever," she says, "We don't know how strong it is. You could lose the baby."

She turns to Fenris and Ellana thinks she's going to jab her finger into his chest---her gaze is that fierce.

"I don't want to see her out of bed. Do you understand me?" Lanaya says, "And please try to refrain from having any kind of ...activity. At least until she can walk to the Feast Hall without having contractions. She's under too much of a strain as it is." 

Ellana catches her meaning. She is mortified and Fenris is no better. He is red-faced. He is embarrassed and Lanaya has misread them both. They are not together. He is just her friend. This is not his responsibility. 

When she tries to tell her, Lanaya snorts and looks at them both like they're being foolish.

"Stay in bed," Lanaya repeats. 

But Ellana isn't arguing. She doesn't want to hurt the child. She doesn't want to hurt Fenris, and that's what will likely happen if Lanaya catches her out walking again. 

She is going to lose her mind though, long before the baby comes. She has read every book Merrill owns, twice. And getting Fenris to talk when he is around is like pulling teeth.

He does not feel better about Ghilan'nain's power. He doesn't understand why they can't just use the spell they used to pull Dirthamen out of Merrill. He doesn't believe her when she says it will kill him.

She wishes Abelas would return. She doesn't need a Dreamer as long as Merrill's spell holds. She can weather Falon'Din's anger if it means Abelas is safe. 

But she doesn't want to weather his anger. She wants him to die. 

Fenris brings dinner from the Feast Hall and then he retreats to a corner of the room. She is surprised he stays. She is surprised he doesn't disappear.

Someone leaves flowers on her doorstep.

 

She can tell Falon'Din has been waiting for her. She is barely in the Fade before he's here, descending upon her like some kind of terrible storm. She doesn't recognize this room or the bed. It's different than the one in the castle Abelas burned. 

"What happened?" he asks.

"Nothing," she says.

'Don't lie to me," he says.

"Nothing happened," she says, "I'm on bed rest for a while. The healer doesn't want anything to upset me. Including you."

"Please leave," she says.

And then she realizes her mistake. He shouldn't know any of this. He should be left trying to guess. He knows she's with a healer and she's staying in one place. He could use that to find her. 

"Tell me everything," he says. And he takes her hand and sits and she feels like she has dunked her arm in a barrel of snakes. He tightens his hold when she tries to pull away. 

"There's nothing to tell."

"You need better care," he says, "Whatever hedge mage you've found to treat you is not nearly skilled enough for the task." He tries to get his arm around her. He tries to pull her onto his lap. He tries to hold her.

She resists and he ends up struggling with her, twisting her arms. He traps her there. He presses his lips to the back of her neck. He pretends she isn't fighting him.

"I don't know how to make you understand," he says, "You need to come home. You're putting our child at risk. Let me take care of you."

She doesn't know why she's surprised by anything he says anymore, but she is. If anyone is putting the child at risk, it's him. It is. She wants to bite his hand. She wants to hurt him.

And then one of his hands is trying to get her skirts up and she is going to scream.

"The healer says it isn't safe," she says, because he isn't going to listen, "Not even in the Fade." But that isn't what Lanaya said and she is glad for Merrill's spell.

"If you don't stop, you're going to make me lose the baby," she says, "You have to stop."

He is already tense but then he's worse. She pries herself out of his hold and he lets her. He looks hurt again. She is so tired of it. She is tired of that face, the way he twists it to make it seem like she's the villain. 

He has never stopped before.

"You said it was nothing," he says. 

He stands and then he's following her. He doesn't let her leave.

"It is nothing," she says.

"It's not nothing if I can't touch you," he says.

And if she can find a way, he'll never touch her again. He'll never touch her child. He'll never see her child. He'll never know it's name. 

But he grips her chin. He turns her head. He makes her look at him.

"Tell me where you are," he says.

"I will find you eventually," he says, "The longer we're apart, the worse it will be when we're finally reunited. Vhenan, please."

The way he smiles is chilling. The look in his eyes. The touch of his hand on her hip, light and soft, gentle. She doesn't want him to tell her. She doesn't want to know what he's going to do to her.

He kisses her cheek and then he's biting her ear.

"Ar lath ma, vhenan," he says.

She hears her name and then she's awake. She's struggling to breathe again. It is Fenris but he isn't waking her because of Falon'Din. There is something else.

She hears footsteps running past. She sits up. She starts to get out of bed, but he stops her. He looks pained.

"It's Abelas," he says, "He's back.

"What's wrong?" she asks. There is something. She can see it in his eyes.

"I don't know," he says, "Stay in bed. We're not under attack. There's no need to worry until we---I'll talk to him."

But he is insane if he thinks she can just sit here after that. She is going to find out for herself but then someone is screaming and she can tell it isn't out of fear. She hears grief. She hears pain. 

She hears Abelas, his voice, rising over the crowd. 

"The West camp is lost," he says, "No survivors."


	25. AOF: The Thief Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It can't last.

Abelas has the look of a man questing for vengeance. The second largest camp was the West camp. There was supposed to be a Dreamer there. Falon'Din found them first.

They are dead. 

They are all dead.

And she doesn't have to hear him tell it to know. She remembers too well what Falon'Din showed her, what he promised to do. They are dead and they suffered horribly before they passed. He broke them and it is her fault.

"If you give me back, he'll stop," she says.

"No," Fenris says. She hears the note of panic in his voice.

And Abelas is shaking. He is so angry he is struggling to breathe.

"He wants you above all else," Abelas says, "You and the child. He will have neither. No matter what happens now, I will not let him take you again."

It is too sharp. She knows what he means, what he won't say. If it comes to it, he will kill her. He will kill her to save her. When she nods, some of the tension goes out of him. She would rather be dead than see Falon'Din hurt her child. 

And there is no doubt in her mind. Once the novelty of being a father wears off, he will tire of it. He would hurt it. Just as he hurts her, just as he gives no care for what she wants and feels. No child should have to grow up like that.

Fenris looks like he's going to be sick. Sera looks much the same. Mahariel looks angrier than she has seen him. And everyone is quiet.

"It won't come to that," Fenris says.

"It might," she says.

"It won't," he snaps, and the force of it frightens her a little. He thinks they can find another way. He thinks they can try. But sometimes there is no other way. Sometimes you are trapped and there is no path out. She knows.

She doesn't want to die.

She doesn't want to live if it means she's a prisoner again. If she's his pretty toy.

"What of the other camps?" Mahariel asks.

"He hasn't found them yet, but they are relocating," Morrigan says, "We'll have to limit travel for a while. It is likely they are watching for us."

"We have been far too lucky," she continues.

Neither of them is all right. Morrigan's face is grim. There is a hard look in her eyes. She is like iron. But Abelas. He is burning too hot. He will break if pushed too hard. He can not stand another loss.

They are all dead because of her. They are dead because she wouldn't go back. They are dead because she was only thinking of herself when she ran.

This is too much.

She stands and they look at her. She doesn't want them to. She wants to slip away unnoticed, but she supposes that's impossible. She can't smile. She can't say anything. She just sort of nods and moves toward the door.

She should be in bed anyway. She is pushing it as it is. 

She hears footsteps behind her as she walks. She doesn't look. She knows who it is. She knows.

He doesn't speak until she's at her door again, until she's opening it.

"It won't come to that," he says.

"Fenris," she says. She sighs. She looks at him and she doesn't know how to say it, how to make him understand.

"No," he says, "I'll keep you both safe. I'll find a way." And he sounds desperate. His eyes are wild. They are too wide and the way he is looking at her...

She doesn't know what she did to earn his kindness, but he shouldn't be so quick to risk his life for hers. He can't protect her. It will only get him killed. 

"Fenris," she says again.

But she can't speak. He touches her cheeks. He brushes the skin with his thumbs, his fingers curving along her jaw, her ear. He cradles her face between his palms and he is looking into her eyes like she is precious. 

And he kisses her.

She shuts her eyes because this can't be real. She leans into him and she doesn't want him to stop. This is what she wanted. For so long. But it is a dream. It has to be a lie. 

The press of his lips is so soft, gentle.

She can't remember the last time it was like this. She can't remember if it ever was. He kisses her, and she knows, he is going to break what's left of her heart. The last piece. 

He steals her breath away. She loves him. She loves him and it is going to hurt too much when she loses him.

When he pulls back, she feels the puff of his breath on her skin. She looks up and he is staring. His eyes are red and she feels his hands. They're shaking.

He kissed her and he kissed her like he meant it. 

She doesn't understand. She had been so sure she misread him. Everything he said, the way he all but ran from her, she had been certain, so certain.

"I can't lose you again," he says, "I won't." It makes something inside her clench.

"But I thought you didn't---" she trails off. 

"Ellana," he says.

He is going to say more, but her heart is beating too fast and the rumble of his voice makes her ache. She can't talk. She can't think. She wraps her arms around him and pulls him down and she kisses him instead. 

It is all she can do. 

And they are interrupted.

Of course.

She sits and Fenris opens the door and it is Lanaya.

She brings food, more than Ellana usually eats. She is glad she is already in bed, because the look on her face when Fenris answers the door is terrifying. 

"You eat like a bird," she says when she hands the tray to Fenris, "It's contributing to the problem. Try to eat all of it. Please." But she doesn't want to eat. She wants to kiss him again. She wants Lanaya to go away.

Someone has made oatmeal cookies. There is a pile of them, carefully wrapped, on the side. There is soft, fresh bread with a flaky crust. There is butter and cheese and roasted carrots and potatoes. There is some kind of meat in a light, brown gravy. There is too much. Lanaya is kidding herself if she thinks she can eat it all.

And someone has sent a small stack of books. Lanaya is carrying them in a satchel, slung over her shoulder. Just the sight of them makes her heart leap into her throat. 

"A gift," Lanaya explains, and her expression softens, "To keep."

She won't tell her who, she says they wanted to be anonymous. 

When Lanaya is gone, Ellana turns to him. She kisses his cheek and she wants to do more, but he looks uncomfortable again. He looks uncertain. She should eat first, he says. They have to be careful.

He is right. She knows. She remembers the last time Lanaya scolded her. How embarrassed they both were because she misunderstood, she thought they were together. She thought---

Ellana picks at one of the cookies and Fenris settles beside her. He looks through the books. She's surprised when he opens one and starts to read. To her. She listens to the low rumble of his voice and she forces herself to eat. She is glad when she fnally finishes, when she can rest against him. 

She presses her cheek to his chest and he pauses to kiss the top of her head. 

She doesn't think this can be real because she doesn't have that sick feeling in her stomach and she is happy. Good things don't happen. Not anymore.

 

There are flowers in the Fade. She doesn't recognize most of them but they are here. So many. In all colors. She thinks it is supposed to be pretty.

But it isn't.

It is distracting. It is chaotic.

"I have consulted my healers," Falon'Din says, "They believe you are under too much stress. You have seen too much ugliness."

And whose fault is that, she wonders.

"I would give you flowers if you were here," he says, "I would give you everything."

She doesn't want anything. Everything he has, he has stolen. He has taken. It is tainted with innocent blood.

She doesn't mean to look at him at all but she is not quick enough to turn away. He is wearing soft colors. He is wearing shades of brown and green. He is wearing rich, warm cotton. 

But he changes her again. He puts her in gold. He adorns her with jewels, with rubies and sapphires, with diamonds. Her hair is pulled back and up and braided in such a way she could never hope to recreate it. 

He kisses the corners of her mouth. She doesn't understand how he can hurt and still look at her like this, like she's the only light in the world. It is horrifying. It is strange. 

"Talk to me, emma lath," he says. He rests a palm against her cheek and she can't hide her disgust.

But he is getting better at pretending. he doesn't react. He doesn't hit her. He keeps his smile even if it is tense. 

"I don't want to talk to you," she says.

"But you will talk to me," he says. _You will._ She hears the threat. The warning.

"What do you want me to say?" she asks. 

He is frowning. He is smoothing a line across her cheek. He is looking at her, through her. 

"You're my wife," he says, "I shouldn't have to tell you what to say. Talk to me. Tell me what's on your mind. I want to know." 

No, he doesn't, because he already knows. She'll tell him she wants him to die and then he'll make her wish she was dead. It's their dance. It's their song. 

"I don't know what to say," she says. 

"Tell me you love me," he says. 

And that is too far. He kisses her and he won't let her turn her head. He holds her still, his grip bruising. 

"I don't love you," she says, when he lets her breathe, "I hate you. You're disgusting." 

"Do you love _him_?" he asks. 

She doesn't pretend not to know who he means but she doesn't want to say yes. She doesn't want to make this worse than it's going to be. He squeezes her arm until her eyes are watering. She's trying not to cry but it hurts. 

"Do you?' he asks. 

"No," she says, but it is a lie. 

"I can't love anyone," she says. 

And then he's smiling. He's smiling and she doesn't feel safe. 

"You don't hate me," he says, "You can't. You're carrying my child inside of you. My seed. My magic. You have no choice but to love me. You're just confused right now. They've tricked you." 

"When you come home, you'll see," he says, "You'll understand." 

But she won't. He's wrong. 

__"I don't want to miss the birth of my only child," he says, "Do not make me show you what will happen if I do."_ _

__"Ellana," he says, and she is shaking, trying to push him away._ _

__

__Abelas leaves with Morrigan again. Sera and Mahariel go with them. They don't know when they'll be back. The camps are scattered further apart, across Thedas. There is too much to do now._ _

__"He is getting desperate," Abelas says before he leaves, "Taking chances he otherwise wouldn't. Be careful."_ _

__She knows why. It won't be much longer now. Lanaya thinks another month if she's lucky. If she can stay calm. If they can continue on like this._ _

__But every night Falon'Din is worse. He is angry. He is seething. He is worse than desperate. And Fenris has to wake her. He has to tell her she's safe. He has to promise her. Over and over again. It is so hard to believe him._ _

__He holds her. He shuts his eyes and presses his lips to her forehead. She can't guess what he's thinking. He won't tell her when she asks._ _

__She knows something is strange the fourth night after Abelas leaves._ _

__Falon'Din does not come to her. She feels like she's holding her breath, waiting. She can't relax and enjoy the dream, because she knows when she does, he'll appear. He'll ruin it._ _

__But he doesn't come._ _

__She sees Griffin when she wakes. Outside her window. She sees Merrill and she is white faced. She is sitting on Griffin's back and she is afraid._ _

__Ellana doesn't want to know why. She can't be afraid. She can't be on Griffin's back. She can't be._ _

__She sees a second horse, or she thinks it used to be a horse. It has been painted white and there is a rusty blade sticking through it's forehead. Just like Griffin once had._ _

__It is glowing._ _

__A second spirit horse._ _

__But more importantly, she sees Cole. Cole is here and he is afraid. His eyes are different. They are his again. they aren't glassy and black. They aren't Rage or Apathy or Despair._ _

__He doesn't give her a chance to speak. He doesn't look at Fenris._ _

"He is coming," he says. 

_He is coming._ Her blood runs cold and she can't move, can't breathe. She leans over the side of the bed and then she's emptying her stomach. This has to be a dream 

This has to be a dream. 

__Fenris runs to the door. He shouts and he tells the first people he sees but Merrill has already told them. The camp is already waking up. They are rushing. They are taking what they can and they are going to run._ _

__But she can't run. He is going to catch her._ _

__Cole takes her hand. He pulls her to her feet. She sees something else about him, a change, but she can't place it._ _

__"We can't stay," he says. She doesn't have time to take much of anything. She gets a hold of the blanket Mahariel made her and then Cole is rushing._ _

__He helps her onto the second horse and then Fenris is there. He climbs up behind her and Cole is jumping on Griffin's back, behind Merrill. He urges the horse on ahead. Down the path. Away._ _

__"Breathe, Ellana, breathe," Fenris says, "I'm here. He won't take you." He takes her hand and presses it to his lips._ _

__"It's all right," Merrill says, "It's going to be all right."_ _

__But it isn't. They won't get far. She can't do this now. She is too far along. The baby is too close to coming._ _

__It is chaos around them._ _

__Falon'Din is coming, she thinks. He is close._ _


	26. AOF: Fear and Deceit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for severe eye trauma

They don't know how many make it out. They ride and they don't look back. And it is a grim night. 

They don't have enough supplies. They are going to have to stop. They are going to have to search and that will cost them time. Falon'Din will be watching the abandoned settlements. It's just a matter of time.

Every sound makes her jump. Every flicker of light in the distance makes them alter their course. She is glad Cole is here, though. She feels safer somehow.

And he is different. He is himself again. At least, she thinks he might be.

When she looks at him with the Sight, he isn't threaded with magic like Sera or Merrill or Fenris. He is stitched together with a sickly pink energy. She has never seen anything like it before and she doesn't know what it is. 

The closest thing to it is scar tissue but she's afraid to ask. 

Falon'Din visits her every night. He pretends to be calm but there is a new tension in the air. His patience is running out.

He promises to give her the world, the stars, anything her heart desires. Anyone. If she'll just come home, if she'll just give in. 

He'll spare Fenris. He'll spare her friends. 

"Please, vhenan, please."

She doesn't know how to respond to him when he's like this, when he begs. When he doesn't hurt her. When he doesn't touch her. She thinks it is almost worse than when he does.

"Just let me go," she says. She begs. She pleads.

That is when some of the veneer cracks. That is when the fury starts to seep through.

"Never," he says. 

She lays in Fenris' arms for hours after, trying to forget, waiting for dawn. In another world, they would have more than this. They wouldn't have to run. She wouldn't have to be afraid.

Sometimes, when he sleeps, his face is soft. Sometimes, he looks almost peaceful. There is a sweet smile he gets and she wants to hold him like that forever. She thinks it is how he is meant to be, free of the weight of the world. Free of Falon'Din and Fen'Harel and the memory of Danarius. In another world, she thinks, he would have this always.

She doesn't know if they'll find Abelas. She doesn't know if they can.

And Cole watches the horizon. 

She thinks she should talk to him but she'll wake the others. She doubts he'll tell her anyway---

"We need to go soon," he says, suddenly.

He looks at her. He doesn't smile.

"Are you all right?" she asks.

He says, "No."

"Can I do anything?" she asks.

He says, "No." Again.

And he is afraid. 

 

They make it as far as Ostagar. 

The land turns to swamp for a while and then she sees the first of the bodies, the bones bleached white by the sun. They are scattered across the field. There is ruined armor, leather and iron. There are rusted swords, bent and broken. And splintered arrows. So many.

There are blighted patches of land where darkspawn blood has spilled. No one wise would come here and she hopes that is truth enough to discourage Falon'Din. Maybe he will go further east. Maybe he will believe they wouldn't risk the dangers.

But if he knows her by now, he won't be fooled. 

And that is what she's afraid of.

Fenris helps her down from the spirit horse while Merrill and Cole search the ruins for anything useful. A cooking pot that isn't rusting. Wood dry enough to burn. Blankets that aren't moth eaten. Anything.

She doubts they will find much. The battle that marked the beginning of the fifth Blight was too long ago. Decades. Most of what remains will be blighted, tainted. 

"How do you feel?" Fenris asks. He crouches in front of her when she sits and his expression is grim.

She is tired of being asked that. She is tired of having to be careful.

But none of this is his fault.

"I'm fine," she says. 

He doesn't look like he believes her but he doesn't press. He kisses her hand, he stands, and he checks the saddlebags again. It is the third time. He isn't going to find anything new, they both know it, but he does it anyway. To keep himself busy, distracted.

She is tempted to ask how it's working.

She wants to take them away from him. She wants to make him sit down beside her. He is too restless, too nervous. When she asks him to, he shakes his head. He keeps glancing to the road, the path they followed. 

"I don't think we should stay here," he says.

"I don't like it," he says.

"Something is wrong," he says.

But they have no choice. They have to stop. She has to stop. She is hurting again. She is too tired.

"Do you see something?" she asks.

He shakes his head again. He looks uncertain, unsettled. His shoulders are too tense and his back too stiff. He is too stiff. Whether he truly knows it or not, he believes something is wrong.

He is probably right. 

"I don't know, there is just something...off," he says, "I can't---it's nothing. I'm sure I'm just jumping at shadows." But again, he sounds like he's struggling with the thought. Something is out there, watching. Waiting.

"We should find Cole and Merrill," she says, "We should go if you think---"

"No," he says, he cuts her off, he snaps at her, "No." He tries to soften it. He tries to smile. 

But it is too late. They can't afford to ignore intuition. They are being hunted. They have to assume the worst. It's the only way to stay alive. Falon'Din is too powerful.

She doesn't want to get back up on that horse. She is sore. She is. But she would rather hurt than be captured. 

She stands and Fenris looks terrible.

"Sit down, it's fine," he says, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not made of glass," she says.

"I know," he says, and there is a bit of hardness again, frustration. She doesn't know what to say. She doesn't know how to calm him.

"Fenris," she says.

"I know," he says. He sighs and she thinks he's trying. She thinks he fighting to get himself under control. 

When he looks at her again, his face is soft. He smiles. He takes her hand. He sits beside her and she thinks he should not be this beautiful. It's his eyes. She does love his eyes.

He kisses her, and she feels herself uncoil. He touches the swell of her stomach and then it ripples. The baby kicks and he laughs, surprised. He rubs the spot and the baby kicks him again, as if to tell him to stop touching her. 

"It's going to be all right," he says. 

When he smiles like that, she can believe him. She does.

 

Cole and Merrill are still gone when she hears it. She only has a moment before she looks up and sees and knows. They are not alone. There are horses. There are soldiers. There is someone far worse.

She sees Falon'Din climbing down from his hart. She sees the glint of his silverite armor. She sees the murderous look in his eyes and she is screaming.

He is here. He has brought his soldiers and several unfamiliar spirits. They are dark like shadows. They are shaped like birds, perched on the antlers of his hart.

Fenris grabs for his sword as she stands. She can't run. She isn't fast enough. Falon'Din catches her, holds her too tight, his gaze raking down over her form. 

He is surprised for a moment. She is not as he pictured her to be.

Fenris tries to fight. He does. He gets the first of the soldiers. He puts his fist through them and they shatter. They explode. 

He cuts through two more with his blade but it is not enough.

Falon'Din's magic makes him scream. It brings him to his knees, makes him drop the sword, and then the soldiers are twisting his arms. They're hitting him. Stopping him.

"What do the Dalish say? Andaran atish'an," he says, "I have missed you, vhenan."

He forces her head to the side. He kisses her. 

And she is cursing, hitting him. She is trying to push him away, but he won't let go. Fenris is shouting.

Falon'Din looks at him. 

"Well. Fenris, is it? I'm glad we finally have this chance to talk," he says, "I admit I've heard quite a bit about you." And he's transferring her to one of the soldiers. He's letting go. 

He strips off his gauntlets. He flexes his fingers. And she feels like her heart is going to break. 

He is looking at Fenris and then at her and she knows what this face means. She knows.

"You can't, please, if you love me at all," she says.

But he ignores her. Of course he does. 

He catches a hold of Fenris' chin. He tilts his head to one side and then the other. He traces the lyrium tattoo where it curls on his chin. 

"A crude attempt," he says, "But effective nonetheless. Ghilan'nain's work. Tevinter never did get anything right, not truly. No wonder you've been such an irritant."

"I think I've been more than just an irritant, don't you?" Fenris asks. He tries to laugh. He tries to pretend he isn't afraid.

But Falon'Din isn't listening. He is looking him up and down. He is examining him the way one would examine a piece of meat. Or an insect.

"She was right," Falon'Din says after a long, tense moment, "You do have such pretty eyes." 

No, she thinks. No. 

He moves around behind him. He stands so he can see her and she can see him. That face again. It is just for her. So she knows what is coming, so he can watch her shatter.

"Can't look me in the face when you kill me, why am I not surprised?" Fenris asks.

"Stop this, please," she says.

Falon'Din tilts his head back.

He hums. He smiles. She tries to remember how she killed the last group of people. How she burned them, but when she thinks she knows, when she reaches for it, she feels a wall. It's like he's blocking her somehow. She fights and she struggles and she can't cast so much as a wisp. It is locked away. It is out of reach.

And that is when he looks the happiest---when she realizes there is no way out of this, when she is helpless. She can't get free of his soldiers. They make her watch.

Falon'Din digs a finger into his left eye and he screams. He pushes it in and the soldiers hold Fenris still. He makes him bleed. He laughs. 

"Stop, please, stop," she says, he is fighting again, trying to get free but he can't, "I'll do anything you want. Just stop." She screams. She screams and Falon'Din doesn't care. He digs his finger in deeper, until Fenris stops fighting. When he lets go, Fenris slumps. Blood drips down his face. It drips onto the dirt. His eye is ruined.

"Ghilan'nain was blinded," Falon'Din says, "It seems fitting somehow."

He is going to do the same to the right eye. There is nothing she can do. He's going to blind him and there's nothing. There's nothing.

"I'll do anything. I'll do anything. Please," she says, "Falon'Din, please. Just stop. Show mercy. Please. Don't do this. I'll never leave you again. I'll love only you. Only you. I'll be the wife you want."

He looks at her and he is amused.

"But you will do that anyway," he says, "You have nothing to bargain with. You are already mine."

"I always fight you," she says, "But I'll stop. You'll have me and I'll be willing. I promise. Just please. Don't hurt him anymore. None of this is his fault."

"It's mine," she says, "Please." She says it over and over again. _Please._

He looks interested for a moment. He looks like he wants to agree, but then he glances down at Fenris and his expression darkens. She has lost. He doesn't care. He's going to blind him and torture him and then kill him. There is too much hate to wrestle with, he won't spare him. Not for her. Not even for her.

She has lost Fenris.

Falon'Din tilts his head back. She knows what he's going to do and he can't. He can't. Fenris looks at her and he knows what's going to happen too. 

She can't bear the look on his face. He will be gone. She will never see him again, never touch him, never hear his voice. He will suffer---he is suffering, and it's her fault. 

She feels something snap inside her. The soldiers holding her scream. They burn up and she is free and then Falon'Din is looking at her, his eyes wide. 

She gets a moment of satisfaction. Of hope. But it doesn't last. She tries again and the spell sputters out. She forces it. She fights and the soldiers nearest to her start to blister.

"No, Ellana, stop," Falon'Din says, he commands her like she is a damn dog. 

She takes a step and she is hit with a terrible pain. It cuts through her, makes her double over. It triggers his spell.

It makes her stop. It shatters her concentration. 

"I told you not to try that spell again," Falon'Din says, but he sounds worried. He forgets Fenris for the moment. He pushes one of the soldiers aside and then he's holding her arm, trying to steady her. The pain spikes again and she makes herself scream. She makes it seem worse than it is. She makes him think. 

He goes white.

"No, you're all right," he says, "Look at me. You're all right. Ellana. Where's the bloody healer? Help her!"

A strange thing happens.

The soldiers holding Fenris collapse. Their throats split open and gush blood. Cole, she thinks. She hopes. And Fenris vanishes. Griffin and the second spirit horse vanish. They are there and then they are just gone. Safe, she hopes.

She hopes Merrill is safe too. She hopes they get far away from here.

Falon'Din curses.

He looks around wildly. He is shocked but he doesn't send his soldiers after him. She thinks he will but she grabs his arm and she screams again. She pretends it hurts worse than anything she has ever felt. She pretends she's dying. It makes him forget.

He helps her to the ground. He smooths the hair back from her face as she screams again. He looks so afraid for her. 

He is shaking.

The healer pours magic into her. It numbs the pain. When she looks at him, there is something on his face. There is a flicker. He knows it isn't this bad. He knows what Ellana is doing.

The healer clears his throat and sits back on his heels.

And Falon'Din rubs slow circles against her lower back. 

"How bad is it?" he asks.His voice breaks and she is glad this is working. She is glad he can't read her thoughts. She is glad Cole has a chance to get Fenris away from here, however long this lasts.

She holds her breath because she expects the healer to give her away, to tell him the truth. She is surprised though. He doesn't. 

"She's stable enough to travel but we have to get her back as fast as possible. She needs to be in bed," he says, "The child will come early I think." 

Ellana doesn't know if that's true but she is going to cry. She has been caught again. He is taking her back again. It is unlikely she will be rescued and if she is going to have the baby soon, Falon'Din will be there with her. he has what he wants. He wins. He always wins.

She is trapped.

"It's all right now, vhenan, I'm not angry," he says, "Try to stay calm. Conserve your strength. We're going home. He won't find you again." It is a small comfort that Fenris is safe for now. He is with Cole and Merrill. He is safe and they aren't going to look for him and...

Falon'Din strokes her hair. He helps her to her feet. Fenris' blood is still on his hands. 

She wishes this was all just a bad dream.

 

It is unfortunate he has brought his hart because it is harder to get the beast to kneel low enough to get her on its back. She is too heavy to just lift and she can't pull herself up. The spirit birds stare at her. They flutter their wings and make terrifying sounds. They watch while Falon'Din struggles to help her up.

Somehow, he manages and then he's behind her. And the spirit birds calm. The turn to look at her, their eyes as black as Cole's once were.

"I will find your little wolf again," Falon'Din says, "Do not think I'm letting him go."

"I think you want me to hate you," she says, and it is hard not to stare at the spirit birds, it is hard not to look, "I think you prefer it."

"Believe what you want, I know the truth," he says, and he kisses her cheek. 

She wishes she could burn them all but he has done something. She can feel her magic but she can't do anything with it. She can't cast. When she tries, she feels drained.

"Stop that," he says.

"What have you done to me?" she asks.

"I'm protecting you and our child," he says, "Do not make me put you to sleep, vhenan."

He spurs the hart on and his soldiers follow. It isn't long before the spell triggers again. They are barely away from Ostagar.

And it is worse. She feels her muscles contract and she thinks, this time, it isn't going to stop. It's going to get stronger. The healer wasn't lying. The baby is coming.

Falon'Din runs his palm over her belly. He calls the healer again. He sounds furious.

"What good are you if you can't do your job?" he asks. 

The healer pales. He tries again. He dulls the pain, the contractions, but he doesn't stop it, any of it. They both know the truth. He looks at her and he is terrified.

"She's going into labor," he says, and his voice breaks, "There's nothing I can do to stop it."

"My child will not be born here," Falon'Din says.

No one wants to argue with him. They are too afraid. 

"You wanted to be a father," she says, "This is your first lesson. Babies come when they will. There's nothing you can do to change it."

There was one thing he could have done, she thinks. He could have left her alone. He could have been kinder. He could have tried. Maybe none of this would be happening now.

He doesn't like her tone or her answer, but he lets it go. No doubt he will punish her later for it, but she doesn't care. The baby is coming and Fenris is badly hurt. She is caught again and she is going to give birth in the blighted land around Ostagar.

None of this is as it should be.

Keeper Deshanna should be here. 

Solas should be here.

Not Falon'Din.

The healer tells her to breathe. He makes ridiculous motions with his hands. He is annoying and she wants to shove him off his horse.

"How long does she have?" Falon'Din asks.

"It could be hours or days or minutes," the healer says.

"We will ride until we have no choice but to stop," Falon'Din says. She hears no compassion in his voice, she hears no softness. He cares nothing for her comfort or her safety or the child's. Not truly. He only pretends. He only cares for what he wants. Only what he thinks he should have.

It would serve him right if they both died from this. They could. He doesn't understand.

"You are a fool," she says, "I'm in labor and you want me to ride." The spirit birds protest again. They pick their way across the hart's antlers. They move further away. And she can see the intelligence in their eyes. They aren't really birds. 

"We've no choice," he snaps.

"You're going to kill us both," she says, "Is that what you want?"

He doesn't answer her. He is angry and he knows she's right. She's embarrassing him in front of his soldiers.

"You'll have to remove the spell," the healer says, "It will complicate---"

"Not now," he says, because he still thinks he can control this somehow.

"Yes, my lord."

Yes, of course, because how could he protest. He has no choice. Falon'Din is already angry from losing Fenris, it wouldn't take much to send him over the edge. He is dangerous. He will hold on to his rage until he has no further need of the healer's services and then he will kill him. If he's so inclined. 

There is no reasoning with him.

She will have to endure for as long as she can. She will have to try.

Falon'Din orders them to ride. 

 

They stop several hours before night fall. She is sweating. She is limp. She is too tired to hold herself upright. 

When she slumps forward, she thinks she's going to fall. Falon'Din catches her and he shakes her a little because he thinks she has fallen asleep. He pulls her back against him. Her head lolls to the side. He sees that she's awake.

"Ellana?" he asks.

She feels the moment he is afraid. 

They are in the middle of nowhere. There are no houses, no warm beds, no walls. No aravels. They are going to have to deliver the baby here, out in the open. She thinks she will die.

"Ellana," he says again, louder. She hears the note of panic when she shuts her eyes. 

Hands are helping her down. There is more pain but she can't move, can't speak. She slumps against one of the soldiers and she doesn't really feel like she's here.

Maybe she really is going to die. Maybe she is dying right now. Maybe he has finally killed her.

"Ellana, look at me, you have to breathe," Falon'Din says.

She feels hands on her face. She feels his spell break. Finally. Her water breaks. She feels her muscles contract, but stronger this time. They contract again and then again and again. They should be further apart, she thinks. They are coming too close together. 

She feels more magic pouring into her. And then the hands are lowering her to the ground. There is more water. She feels it and she thinks that must be odd, but she is so tired. She has to open her eyes. She has to sit up. They are urging her. Someone is. She knows his voice.

"Ellana, please," he says.

She takes a breath. She tries to open her eyes. She struggles. She forces it and she sees his face and she is relieved for a moment. Solas, she thinks, but that is wrong, and she remembers. Falon'Din. This is Falon'Din.

"You're going to be fine," he says, "The baby is coming. You have to be strong." It is funny he would say that. She only has to be strong because of him, because of what he has done. He is a monster.

He settles behind her. He props her up against him and she thinks this is going to be terrible if he has to touch her. 

She is too tired. She can't do this. Not with him. She can't have him touching her. She can't bear it.

The healer gets her smalls off and then he's shoving her skirts up. He is shaking and his hands are like ice. This doesn't bode well, she thinks.

Someone holds a potion to her lips. They force it down her throat. She chokes. She sputters. She almost vomits it back up. 

But it restores some of her energy. Not much. Not nearly enough, but she can hold her head up again. She doesn't know how much time passes---she loses track. There is only the pain and Falon'Din's hands on her arms.

He kisses her over and over again. He whispers encouragement in her ear. When the healer nods to him, he tells her to push.

"I hate you," she says, "I hate you."

It happens too fast. The baby comes. It cries.

It is too small.

"You have a daughter," the healer says.

She is ugly and wrinkled and red. She is disgusting and beautiful all at the same time. The baby is angry. So very angry.

The healer wipes her off with someone's shirt and Falon'Din is making horrible sounds. He is kissing the back of her head. He is pleased. He is overwhelmed. 

She realizes they are going to place the baby on her chest, but she is hurting again. She is tensing up again. She is contracting again.

"It's just the placenta," the healer says, but he sounds unsure. He gives the baby to Falon'Din and she is going to scream. The sight of him cradling her in his arms, his finger tracing the sharp point of her ear, overshadows the physical pain she feels. 

She is her daughter, not his. He has no right. He can't touch her. He can't.

She struggles to push, but it is more difficult this time without him sitting behind her. She doesn't want to admit it, but it is true. 

One of the soldiers props her up.

"It's fine," the healer says, in what are supposed to be soothing tones, "Breathe. Just breathe."

But she can't because it hurts too much. It is worse than before. It is worse than it was with the baby. And Falon'Din is touching her daughter. He is holding her. She is going to be sick.

"Oh. That's not the placenta," the healer says, and he sounds surprised, "Oh." She doesn't care. She doesn't because there is nothing in the world but this horrible pain. She can't breathe, no matter what he says. It hurts and she can't stand the sound of his voice. She wants to kill Falon'Din. She wants to get her daughter away from him.

She wants to die.

He will never do this to her again. She will find a way to stop him. 

Something breaks and the pain ebbs. She slumps against the soldier. The relief hits her and it is so powerful and can almost forget where she is. 

She hears a second cry. 

"You have a son," the healer says.

"What?" she asks. She has a daughter. She heard him before. 

"What did you say?" Falon'Din asks.

But there are two babies. She can see them both. So very small. So very angry.

"You have a son," the healer repeats, "And a daughter. You have twins, my lord."

No, not his, she thinks. Hers. He can't have them. He can't touch them. They are hers. 

"Give me my baby," she says, "My babies. Don't touch them---" But Falon'Din doesn't listen. He never does. He holds her daughter and looks at her son and she thinks this can't get any worse.

When he looks at her, she thinks, she will never be free of him. He doesn't just think he loves her, he does love her. She can see it in his eyes. He is enchanted. She has never seen him so happy before, so pleased.

He is repulsive.

"Oh, vhenan," he says, and there are tears in his eyes, "You have given me the most wonderful gift. Ar lath ma." 

She is going to be sick. It wasn't a gift. She had no choice. She gave him nothing. He forced it. He stole.

He has ruined this.

"Give them to me," she says.

He kisses her forehead and relents. He places her daughter on her chest, and he takes her son from the healer. But he doesn't give him to her. He holds him and she doesn't feel appeased. 

She is angry. She is so very angry. 


	27. AOF: The Shadow of a Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He plays the doting father.

It is not an easy thing to ride to his new fortress. She hurts and every step the hart takes jars her, makes it worse. The babies cry and it seems endless. 

She expects him to say something horrible, but he makes no mention of it. He doesn't seem irritated yet. He is still so pleased with himself. Such perfect children. Such beautiful children. And a wife that will be compliant now, loving now, just to keep them safe.

The little ones do not care for the eluvians. It sets them crying a new, each time. They don't care for the spirit birds either. Every flutter of wings and avian call frightens them. 

"Dirth'inan for the boy perhaps," he says, "Or Dirthara'nan. And Bellana for the girl. What do you think, vhenan?"

"Does it matter what I think?" she asks.

She can't see him but she can feel his displeasure. She doesn't care. He can call them whatever he likes, but she will use her names.

"Mahanon is my son," she says, "Neria is my daughter."

They are clan names. They are old names. And he likes neither. Of course. 

"Neither of those is befitting their status," he says, "Nehnaise would be more suitable for our daughter. And Manadirth for our son. Neria is the name of a goat herder's daughter. Mahanon is the name one would expect a stable boy to have. Yes, I think---"

She stops listening. She doesn't care. And there is nothing wrong with being a stable boy or a goat herder. It is a far better life than this. 

His new fortress is every bit as terrible as the last. There are terrified slaves. There is stolen opulence. There is pain. Everywhere. She can't walk without seeing it on someone's face, seeing the ripple of it.

The healers try to whisk the children away. They think just because he says so, they can take them out of her arms and they are wrong. She turns her body away. She blocks them and she snaps at them to back off. She goes with them. She holds one while they look at the other, while they cast healing spells, while they fuss because the babies are so very small. 

And Falon'Din is just as foolish. Even though he watches her snarl at his healers for their attempts, he thinks she will turn her children over to his servants to raise while he sequesters her in his room. He is wrong. They sleep where she sleeps, where she can see them, hear them. She is not turning them over to a stranger so he can keep her all to himself. They will not be out of her sight. Not for a moment. 

They are hers and they are innocent and they deserve everything she can give them. 

He is not pleased when she has the crib brought in and placed nearest to her side of the bed, but he allows it. He doesn't fight her. Yet, she thinks. They are still too new. The novelty hasn't worn off. 

She lets him kiss her, but she is repulsed. He would take them away to punish her. She can't fight him. She can't resist.

And every time she closes her eyes, she sees Fenris. She sees his face. She sees his blood. 

 

His bedroom is different. There are more book shelves and more books. Somehow, he has discovered and collected all of her favorites. Some of them are from Cassandra's personal effects.

There are new clothes in many different sizes. Beautiful things. Expensive things. Overly frilly and bejeweled and impossible to wear. She doesn't find any ordinary breeches. There are only long skirts and dresses. 

She doesn't want to think about why that could be.

There is a hideous chair she would have otherwise loved. Someone has pieced yellow plaidweave and blue silk brocade together with green Everknit wool. There is a corner of red highever weave and a circle of royal sea silk. Whoever did this worked hard to make it this ugly. Dorian would have fainted from the shock of it all. And that makes her hurt again, worse.

Dorian will never meet her children. He will never look at them and pretend to be useless with children when it is clear he is lying. And Josephine will never squeal over them and steal them away, fighting with Leliana over who is the favored aunt. They will never give them ridiculous, pretty things. Cassandra and Cullen will never fight over who gets to teach them how to hold a sword. Vivienne will never prompt them to show her how much they've learned in their magical studies. Varric will never tell them inappropriate stories. Iron Bull will never toss them in the air to make them laugh and giggle and terrify her half to death. And Blackwall will never carve them rocking horses and toys and pretend to be so adorably gruff and awkward.

And that is how she knows. She looks at the chair and she realizes who carved and shaped the wood for the damn thing. It's another of Blackwall's. His last, if she remembers correctly.

But of course. Even a monster can pretend to be thoughtful once in a while.

Mahanon is the quieter of the two. He is content to sleep in anyone's arms and he will sleep through most anything. He has more hair than his sister. It is wispy and fine and soft and a different color than her own. It is like her mother's, she thinks, but it has been so long. It is hard to remember.

When he is a few days old, she notices a raised red patch of skin on his back. It is small but it frightens her enough to call for the healer. He says it is safe. He calls it a strawberry birthmark. There is nothing to worry about---sometimes they aren't visible at birth but they appear a few days after. He talks with her until she feels better. His eyes are kind and she regrets that she would have killed him if Falon'Din hadn't blocked her magic. He would be dead and he would have done nothing to deserve it.

And Neria cries. Endlessly. But for whatever reason, she quiets in Falon'Din's arms. She curls her hand around his finger and looks at him like he's a pretty god. It is fortunate, she supposes, because she doesn't know what he would do if her children cried every time he came near them. 

Neria is as bald as Solas. She has his chin. She has her nose. She screams when anyone touches the top of her head. She is as furious as a storm. And it seems, Falon'Din prefers her to her brother.

"My first born," he says, as if that explains everything. He is quick to pick her up, to steal her away from whomever is holding her. He is quick to seize her when she wakes. Just the sight of him, glowing with pride, makes Ellana sick.

Every time he kisses her tiny fingers, Ellana wants to snatch her away.

He calls her his little Nehnaise, his princess, his heir. She is perfect, he says, so perfect.

And he calls Mahanon his quiet Manadirth, his banal'ras'len, his shadow child. He thinks he will command his army some day, his little general. But that is a lie. Falon'Din would never give that kind of control away. He would never. 

Her children will learn what it is to be Dalish. They will hunt in the forests. They will travel in aravels. They will sit by the fire and listen to hahren's stories. They will not sit in study of a mad king.

Falon'Din gives her another slave woman. 

Because he didn't learn the first time.

 

He gives her flowers and kisses her and she lets him because she has to. They are her favorites, again. Beautiful and fragrant, but not overwhelming. Someone has helped him. And she is wondering why he's even trying. 

She is his, he says. His thing, his wife. He doesn't have to try because she is property. _But he is trying._ He is trying and she hates it.

She has not healed enough. She is not ready for his...attention. And she is tense, worrying that's the reason for it. He is attempting some kind of seduction. He is going to rape her again. The healers have warned him she needs more time, but he rarely listens to anyone but himself. 

He doesn't force himself on her today. He watches while she feeds her son. He strokes the child's head, kisses his cheek. He smiles because he has caught more rebels and she hates him. 

"I want you to see them," he says, "Before their execution." If she hadn't already felt sick, she would now. She doesn't want to look. She doesn't want to know if he's caught anyone she knows, anyone she loves. 

"We can't afford to execute anyone," she says, and she doesn't know how she keeps her voice steady, "There are so few of us left in the world. Or have you forgotten? You would be wise to spare them." She is too sharp. She knows better, but she is afraid.

"And you would be wise not to presume you know better," he says.

"It would please me if you spared them," she says. And she can't stop herself. She can't temper herself. He would kill them because they want to be free. He would.

"You haven't even seen them. You don't even know if you know any of them," he says.

"It doesn't matter. They are people," she says, "I want them to live." There has been too much death already. The world is quiet and so very small.

"I don't care what you want," he snaps, "We will make an example of them. They will not be spared because my wife has a soft heart." And his expression is dark. She sees the danger. She is pushing too much, too hard. 

"Abelas would execute them, too," she says, she lies, "He would have no choice because he is weak. You were supposed to be better than him. Wiser. At the very least, stronger. " But Abelas is not weak. He is the strong one. He is the wise one. He is the one who deserves to walk this world. 

And Fenris. Oh Fenris. 

"Falon'Din is so powerful he doesn't have to kill his enemies, he forces them into his service, that's what they will say. If you kill them, they become martyrs, " she continues, " Martyrs can never be defeated. Is that what you want?"

She will pay for this later. She knows. But for now, it gives him pause. 

"Perhaps, this time," he says, "I will consider it." And he will expect something in return. He will expect her to take him in her mouth. He will demand it. But it is a small thing compared to the slaughter of her people. And she caused this, her foolishness. She will do whatever she can, whatever she must. If they are alive, they can fight. If they are alive, they can win.

"Let them rebuild your cities," she says, and she hates the sound of her own voice, her words, "If they hate you as much as they say, laboring for you will be be more of a punishment anyway. It will last longer. Death is too quick. It is over and done and forgotten in a heart beat."

He has a strange expression on his face but she doesn't look long enough to analyze it. She can't stand the sight of him. 

"You are trying to manipulate me, vhenan," he says. Always, she thinks.

"I'm trying to stop you from making a mistake," she says, "You have already won. Killing makes you seem afraid. It makes you seem weak. They have no army and they have no resources. They've lost. Abelas knows it. Why do you think you couldn't find him? He has already fled."

Unless he has caught him, and in that case, they really have lost. 

But he doesn't gloat. He listens. His gaze shifts inward. 

He spares the rebels. He sends them to his new Arlathan. He puts them to work and she thinks it is probably terrible. But they are alive. Abelas can free them again. She hopes. She does.

 

She thinks about Fenris. When she's awake and Falon'Din is sleeping, she thinks she should try to cut his throat. She thinks she should kill him before he wakes. 

She thinks about Fenris and his eye and she almost tries.

But he stirs when she moves. He opens his perfect eyes and smiles at her and pulls her back into his arms. He kisses her. He whispers terrible things in her ear, the things he's going to do to her when she's strong enough, when she has healed enough.

He probably knows what she wants to do, she thinks, because she is not good at hiding her feelings. She wears them on her face. He can see her rage and her disgust, and if he can't have her love, it is what he will settle for.

He looks at the crib at her bedside.

"They will have to go to the nursery soon, vhenan, they can't sleep in here forever," he says.

She doesn't have to answer because Neria cries and Mahanon makes a half hearted whimper. And because his little Nehnaise is distressed Falon'Din is on his feet, scooping her up and making ridiculous sounds.

"Come now, sweetling," he says, "It will be a while longer still. You can stay with Papae and Mamae. Yes, little love, you are fine."

And Mahanon is already drifting back to sleep. He makes an occasional squeak until Neria is calm, as if wanting to show his support. 

Falon'Din puts Neria in her arms. 

"I think she needs to be changed, vhenan," he says, "I'll call your girl to---" _Your girl. Your slave._ The disgust she feels is so strong it is a physical sensation. It is sharp. It burns. 

"No," she says, "Don't wake her for this." He is right. Neria is a mess. No wonder he gave her up so quickly. There is shit all the way up her back and on the blanket. It is a miracle he didn't get any on him. 

He frowns.

"It's what she's here for," he says. He crawls back into bed and she wants to hurt him. She can picture Solas in his place, and she thinks, he would have gotten up and taken care of his daughter. He would have done it without complaint. he wouldn't have tried to force a woman into slavery to do it. He would have been horrified at the thought.

And Neria will never know her father. She will only know this _thing_. And neither will Mahanon. They will only have a monster they have to fear. The corners of her eyes are stinging again. Her chest hurts.

"I will take care of my own child," she says. She ignores how much she hurts. She gets up to clean her. She pretends Falon'Din isn't here at all, watching. She pretends. She wishes. She sighs.

"Are you sure you don't want me to call your girl to take care of this?" he asks, "You're exhausted. This is silly." It is hard not to snap at him.

"You are so stubborn," he says, but he sounds amused. When she spares him a glance, he has another impossibly soft look on his face---as if the thought of her taking care of her child is so strange and unexpected. As if he relishes how possessive she is. As if he thinks it is all somehow for him.

He is a fool. Nothing she does is for his benefit. It never will be.


	28. AOF: There Will Be Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He goes too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for noncon

Sometimes ghosts come to the castle. They reach their wispy arms out to Falon'Din and they touch him. They vanish. 

"It has been thousands of years," he says, "There has been no one to guide the dead to the Beyond. That is what I'm doing."

And then she wonders if her friends are lost somewhere too. She wonders if Dorian has found his way to the Beyond. And Cassandra. Any of them. She doubts they would relish _his_ help.

"Why you?" she asks, "Is it some kind of spell?"

"It's a gift," he says, "Mythal could turn people to stone. Sylaise could burn them. That idiot who ruined everything could manipulate the Fade. And Dirthamen could---well, it is the same kind of thing." His breath catches when he mentions Dirthamen

He sighs. He presses his lips to her neck.

"I am getting tired of waiting," he says.

And she is fighting not to push him away. 

"I'm sure it's just a while longer," she says, "I don't have a way to heal any faster." But she is going to be sick all over him. Just the thought of him touching her again, just the thought, is too much.

He sort of hums, as if he's thinking about something, but he doesn't pull back. He stops. He kisses the back of her hand and then he's walking away. He's leaving her alone.

She would thank the gods if there were any. 

 

He brings the woman he gave her to their rooms. 

She doesn't know why at first. She thinks it's going to be a repeat of the night he hurt Orana, but then she sees another slave. And another. The women pick up Neria and Mahanon. The man starts to carry the crib into the nursery and she is going to lose her mind.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

She is going to take Mahanon away but Falon'Din stops her. 

They carry them into the nursery and leave her alone with him.

"It is time," he says. There is a note of finality in his voice. And she is shaking, she is so angry.

He takes her by the arm and leads her to a chair and makes her sit. There is another knock at the door and then the healer is here. She doesn't like the look on his face. She doesn't like the way they are both looking at her.

"What is this?" she asks. She tries to stand but he forces her back down. He looks into her eyes and she knows this is not a battle she can win. She doesn't know what he wants. She doesn't know and she doesn't like it.

"This will hurt," he says, "But you will remain calm and still. I do not want to have to tie you, but I will, vhenan." He lets go. He steps back. 

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"I'm sorry," the healer says, and he cuts his palm.

And whatever this is, Falon'Din is right. It hurts. It hurts worse than anything she has ever felt. She is hit by the rush of blood and then it's like she is ripping apart. She feels like her skin is tearing, her muscles shredding. 

She screams again and again, but Falon'Din has nothing to worry about---she can't move. She wants to. She wants to run and fight and block the spell, but she can't. 

There is too much pain.

And when it ends, she still can't move. Neria and Mahanon are screaming. She can hear them, but she can't go to them. It is worse than the pain. Listening to their cries and not being able to help, not being able to pick them up or comfort them. She pitches forward and he catches her and even just the touch of his hands on her arms is agony.

Breathing is agony.

Parting her lips to speak is agony.

"What did you do to me?" she asks, and her voice sounds strange. She needs to go to her children. It's the only thing she can think about, the only thing that matters. They are crying. They are frightened.

He smiles. He is so pleased with himself again. So happy. So eager. He kisses her cheek and the healer is terribly pale. He looks like he's going to pass out. Blood is still dripping from the cut.

"You'll feel better in a few hours," the healer says, and she hears something strange in his voice, there is a tone she can't place, "Better than you've felt in a very long time." Whatever _that_ means. He stares at her for too long.

"What did you do to me?" she repeats. She is light-headed. She is dizzy.

"I've healed you, vhenan," Falon'Din says.

"We won't have to wait," he says. He smooths the hair back from her face. He runs his fingers up along her scalp, tangling, pulling. 

He dismisses the healer---he stumbles as he leaves. He hits the door frame and struggles to stay upright and she is screaming inside. She is screaming and she can't stop. .

Falon'Din takes her again. He hurts her.

 

Her stomach is flat again. Her stretch marks have smoothed away. There are no spidery purple veins. It is the body she had when she was nineteen. 

It isn't hers anymore.

This isn't right, she thinks, and she is horrified. She is repulsed. She feels like she has been stuffed into a space that doesn't fit her. She is claustrophobic. She is struggling just to stay calm.

She doesn't know what exactly the healer did to her, but it was too much for him. She sees his spirit when she wakes. He smiles at her. He touches Falon'Din. He passes through him. He is gone.

He was right. She does feel better than she has. She feels her magic again and Falon'Din isn't blocking it, maybe he doesn't know. She feels wonderful and that is wrong. The healer is dead because Falon'Din was impatient.

He is dead. He used too much blood to fix her.

But she can use her magic again.

She is stronger than she has ever been.

"There is nothing to be sad for, emma lath," Falon'Din says, "He has gone on to a better place. He is at peace."

She can't breathe. He can't be serious. 

'You are beautiful," Falon'Din says. 

He killed a man so he could erase the marks on her body, the sagging parts, the stretched skin. He killed a man so he could erase the ravages of child birth. The body that was hers, that she earned with her hard work and her sweat and her blood, the body she felt comfortable in.

It is hard to move now because this feels like a terrible dream.

She stumbles when she stands and she drops her robe, her fingers too stiff.

This body is pretty enough, but it isn't hers. She doesn't want it. She wants to go back.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

Where does he think she's going? She bites back a thousand insults and ties the belt firmly around her waist.

"Neria and Mahanon need to eat," she says.

But he catches her arm. He pulls her back down.

"The wet nurse will see to them," he says.

"The what?" she asks, because it is the last terrible thing in a long line of terrible things. It is not even the worst of what he's done, not really, but it is the thing that makes the edges of her vision go fuzzy.

"The wet nurse," he says, "So we won't be disturbed. You can't feed them now anyway."

She stares at him and his words don't make sense. He is forcing another woman to feed her children. He is and she...she...it hits her all at once and it is worse than a slap to the face. She knows what else is wrong, what he means. Her breasts, she can't feed Neria and Mahanon. 

She has no milk. 

"I have missed this," he says, and he is already working the knot of her belt loose. He is pushing the robe off her shoulders and all she can think about is Neria and Mahanon in the nursery with strangers. She can't even feed them now. She can't protect them. She can't do anything because he is here to ruin it, to stop her, to take it all away.

She presses her palm to his chest and thinks about how much she hates him and he smiles. He leans in to kiss her. He thinks he has won. He thinks he has broken her. He thinks.

But he is wrong.

She pulls with the anchor. She pulls and he screams and she thinks it is the most beautiful sound in all the world.

Something comes loose.

It isn't Falon'Din. It isn't him. But the blue coils of magic snap loose and latch onto her. They sink inside her and she feels the flutter of another mind touching hers.

Falon'Din falls out of bed. He hits the floor hard and she hears the crack. He curses, he rounds on her, he is going to hit her. He is angry enough, she thinks, he might try to kill her. But she is too angry to be afraid. She has stolen something from him. Mythal, she realizes. She has ripped her away.

No, she has freed her. Once she broke the bindings, Mythal came willingly. She feels her magic and it is so much stronger than it was.

"What have you done?" he asks, he shouts. 

But he is so very pale. He stops when he looks into her eyes. He steps back. He stares at her and she knows, he is afraid. He is afraid of _her_.

"I hate you," she says, and she burns him. She lashes out with her magic and sees his skin blister. He screams again. 

He runs.

He does.

 

The guards come while she's holding Neria but they don't fight her. They bow and it is strange. 

"He has fled," they tell her. 

"Thank you," they say.

"Thank you."

She hasn't had time to tell them they are all free again. They are grateful enough that he is gone. They saw his face. They saw the damage she did. They know.

"Tell everyone," she says, and her voice is shaking. But she will have to be the one. She will have to give a speech. She will have to try to remember what Josephine taught her. She will have to piece something together, and what can she say?

Falon'Din is a monster who hurt them. She can't fix anything. She can only hope to find him and end him before he has a chance to claw his way back.

She breathes. She pats Neria's back because she is fussing again. She kisses her tiny ear and when she is quit she settles her beside her brother.

Mythal is in her head and she is surprised she hasn't tried to control her. She is content to sit as a passenger, it seems. And when she wonders how long this will last, Mythal seems amused. _For as long as you wish_. But she is not so trusting she believes her.

She knows the spell Solas used to remove vallaslin. She knows it now because Mythal knows it and shares the knowledge freely.

She can erase his marks from the faces of the people.

She starts with the guards because they are waiting, unafraid Falon'Din will return. She offers and they accept, and she can tell, they don't really think she knows how. 

But they are bare faced by the end of it. They are free.

"Thank you," the guards say.

"Thank you."

She is afraid the wet nurse will leave now that she can. She's afraid she won't be able to feed her children. The wet nurse will leave and they will starve.

She doesn't know how to reverse the spell the healer cast on her, she doubts she could even if she did know. Blood magic is strange, and whatever he did, killed him. 

But the wet nurse doesn't leave. She says she'll stay as long as she needs her. She says she has nowhere to go anyway. Falon'Din destroyed it all.

"He stole their father away," Ellana tells her, "He is no better than a parasite."

"Will you kill him?" the woman asks.

"I'll try," she says, "What's your name?"

"Niala," she says.

Falon'Din has gone. He is too much a coward to face her now that she has Mythal.

The castle is hers.


	29. AOF: She Will Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They come to the gates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger for depression and body image issues (feeling uncomfortable in your own skin)

Falon'Din does not come to her in the Fade, but she feels his presence. He hides. He watches. He makes her uneasy, but he dares not approach. She doesn't know why, but she is not grateful. As long as she can sense him, she is afraid.

She is angry.

 

There is a strange soldier at the gate, demanding to speak with her. The seneschal wakes her, and he is pale with fright. 

Neria has been up most of the night again. They have both only started to sleep. She doesn't know who has come, who has dared to frighten her people, but she is so tired she just may kill them on principal. 

But she gets dressed because there is no other choice. She drinks a stamina potion and runs. She doesn't believe it's Falon'Din. He would not have stood so patiently outside of his own castle. He would have slaughtered them and forced his way in.

This is someone else. Maybe someone she knows. Maybe one of Falon'Din's allies. Maybe one of hers.

But she has no idea.

She has Mythal's powers now, in addition to Sylaise's---she should not be afraid. But she is.

 

More than anything else, She wants it to be Fenris, but when she reaches the gate, she sees it isn't. He wears sentinel armor, a hood covering his head and part of his face. But she feels Mythal's recognition and she knows. Abelas. This is Abelas.

"Open the gates," she shouts. She tries not to let the disappointment overwhelm her but it is difficult. Abelas is here. This is good, she thinks, she tries to convince herself. But she wants Fenris. She fears for him. She misses him. She wants to kiss him and feel his arms around her. She wants to hear him tell her everything is going to be fine.

She could almost believe it then.

Abelas looks weary. He looks as if he has spent several sleepless nights just riding. And he is alone. Gods help them all, because he is.

"I didn't believe it," he says, "I had to see with my own eyes." He doesn't have to explain. The look he gives her tells it all. Mythal. He can see her power. He knows.

When he dismounts, she thinks he's going to fall over. She reaches out. She doesn't think. She steadies him but it is difficult because he is so much taller than she is. He sways and then one of her guards is getting an arm around his waist. He's holding him up.

Someone sees to the horse---it is just as exhausted. It is just as worn.

"What happened?" she asks. Why are you alone? Where is everyone? She feels like she's swallowed broken glass.

"When I give the signal, they will know it is safe," he says, "They'll come."

"Who? Abelas, please, what happened?"

"The last of us," he says, "All that remains."

He casts a fireball into the sky. It rises. It explodes and he sags against the guard. 

"He found our camps," he says.

"He has found them all," he says.

And then he's pitching forward and the guard is struggling to hold him. He's unconscious and she's screaming for help.

 

The soldiers who come are just as weary, just as ready to drop. They are too thin, their eyes sunken in and their cheeks hollow. They are ill, their skin ashen. They are wounded, and their wounds are festering. Whatever battle they've fought, it took too much from them.

She sees Zevran, his arm in a sling. She sees Velanna, leaning heavily on her staff. She sees Loranil and Aravas, both limping, both sweating with fever. But she doesn't see Dalish or Skinner. She doesn't see Merrill or Fenris or Cole. She doesn't see Orana. Or Lanaya. She doesn't see Sera or Mahariel or Morrigan.

And there is no way she can convince herself it is nothing to worry about.

She thinks there won't be enough beds until the last of the soldiers filter in through the gates. Then, she knows how foolish that thought was. They don't even number a hundred soldiers. Not even one hundred. Not seventy five. 

There are sixty three. The seneschal does a quick count and then he's off, drafting every able bodied man and woman to help with the preparations. The soldiers do not wait. They sit where they can. They slump against the walls. They sprawl in the grass. Some sleep. A few look like they're going to die.

This is not right, she thinks, this is not how it's supposed to be.

_He found our camps. He has found them all._

It can't be true. This can't be all that's left. There will be no one by the time Falon'Din is done. Only the dead. Only corpses rotting in the open air.

"Where is Sera?" she asks, "Mahariel?" She doesn't dare ask about anyone else. She can't hear that Falon'Din has killed them, and the chance that he has is high. Because of her. This is all because of her.

Zevran manages a smile, but still, it does not put her at ease. 

"They are off being foolish," he says. Whatever that means. But they are alive if they're doing something. They are alive and that is a good thing. There is hope.

"Where are Fenris and Merrill?" Velanna asks. It comes out too sharp and Ellana knows what she's thinking. 

"I don't know," she says, "They were with Cole." 

They were with Cole and Fenris was hurt. They could be anywhere. They could be dead. Falon'Din has slaughtered the camps, how could she think they've managed to evade him? They are probably gone. He could have sent soldiers back to find them, kill them. She had just given birth, she couldn't have known everything he was doing.

Her hands are shaking, but she can't cry. There is nothing left inside of her. Only a terrible hollow feeling. Only a terrible cold.

 

Abelas sleeps for three days. She sees to the soldiers in his absence. There is plenty of room with more to spare. There is food enough for all, for now. But there are not enough healers. There is not enough lyrium. There is not enough medicine.

They make due with what little they have. They wait for their mana to restore naturally. She forces herself to pay attention and learn what little she can of their healing spells. She treats minor wounds. She helps the healers conserve their strength.

But she is not a healer. It is difficult. She struggles.

When Abelas finally wakes, he tries to get out of bed. He thinks there are things he should attend---she has to threaten him to keep him off his feet. He is not pleased but he listens. And she doesn't know if he sees the wisdom in her words or if he's obeying her because of Mythal.

"What happened?" she asks, "No one will tell me." She thinks they are trying to spare her somehow and that is foolish. 

Abelas sighs. He shuts his eyes, and when he opens them, he looks haunted. He is still too pale. There is a hard lump in her throat. She thinks she is going to cry.

"He knew somehow," he says, "We were always too late. He was always ahead of us."

"Someone must have told him," he says.

"He couldn't have known otherwise," he says, and he sounds broken. This is not his voice. This is not the stern, confident man she knows. He is still too ill for this conversation. She has been selfish. She shouldn't have pushed him. She should have waited.

She doesn't know how, but she has to find Falon'Din. She has to stop him.This can't continue. 

"You will stay in bed," she says, "You will rest and recover your strength and you will not fight me on this." He sighs. He nods.

She will think of something. She will find a way.

 

She rocks Mahanon while Neria sleeps. He is the fussy one tonight---as if he can sense the tension from the soldiers, the civilians. He keeps scrunching down and bobbing his head, trying to, but he is still too young to have much control over his muscles. 

"It's alright, love," she says, and she kisses his head. He makes a tiny, miserable sound and then he is crying.

She doesn't know what to do. 

She rubs his back. She walks him up and down the halls while Niala watches Neria. 

It seems like hours before he quiets, but he is still sniffling, still whimpering. She doesn't know if she should wake one of the healers---he is usually so calm. He is usually so happy. It is almost as if he's trying to stay awake, as if he doesn't want to sleep, but that seems silly.

She wonders if he is hurting. Maybe she should wake the healers. Just to be safe. 

She is still debating with herself she she finds Zevran. He is wandering the halls too, his arm still bound in a sling. He is just as restless. He looks just as miserable.

"This is the little one?" he asks, "Such a handsome little man. It is fortunate he has his mother's good looks."

"This is Mahanon," she says, "Neria is asleep."

He looks surprised.

"Twins? " he asks, he doesn't try to touch him. He doesn't try to grab for him and she is glad---not just because of his injury. Whenever anyone tries to take one of them from her she gets a terrible spike of panic. She feels like she's choking. Drowning. It takes everything she has just to stay calm.

She nods. She had forgotten to tell them about her children---there hadn't been time. The rush to get everything ready, the wounds that needed tending, food preparation---there was too much. 

Mahanon squirms. He puffs out his breath and he wails.

She thinks she is going to cry too. 

"Well, Mahanon, I quite agree," Zevran says, "But before you know it, Uncle Zevran will be healed enough to hold you. Until then, you will just have to wait."

"He's usually the quiet one," she says.

"Sometimes babies just cry," he says, "It will pass. You're doing fine." He speaks with a surprising air of confidence---he has had experience with this, she thinks.

But Mahanon doesn't care. He shrieks and it is too sharp in her ear. She makes a frustrated sound. Why tonight of all nights? What can she do to help him?

"You are wound too tightly," Zevran says, "Perhaps he is picking up on it. When's the last time you slept?"

"When's the last time you slept?" she counters. Because she is always wound too tightly. It never bothered Mahanon before. It can't be that simple.

He smiles and this time it reaches his eyes. It is genuine. 

"Ah, but I am not holding a baby," he says, "It has been a long week. Let someone help you. Get some sleep."

But she feels like a failure. She can't sooth her own child. She can't comfort him. She can't do anything.

"I would offer, but my arm has not healed enough," he says, "I'm afraid I wouldn't be much good to you." 

He pats Mahanon on the back. He pretends he's not screaming.

"Take care of your mother," he says, "Don't let her be quite so serious."

Mahanon hiccups and looks at him. His face is so red and his so eyes wet with tears. His crying peters out but he is still not happy. He stares at Zevran and he can't look away. He hiccups again. He sniffs.

But he is quiet. She doesn't know what Zevran did, or why it worked, but she could almost kiss him. 

She sighs. If this will only last, she thinks.

 

When she finally sleeps, it is very early in the morning and Mahanon has tired himself out. Neria stirs, hungry. Ellana kisses her tiny fingers and then Niala is taking over. She doesn't want to admit how much this hurts, but it does. 

She feels like a failure. She can't even do this. It is one simple thing women have been doing for centuries, and she can't. He took it away.

She feels worthless. 

She knows she shouldn't. She knows this isn't her fault and there's nothing wrong with her, but the thoughts are still there, nagging at her. 

She takes a sleeping draught. 

And when she is in the Fade, she knows. Falon'Din is aware of the change. He knows what has happened. Somehow. 

When he appears, she barely recognizes him. He does not look much like Solas. His features are sharper---they are similar but they are not the same. His hair is dark and long---the sides are pulled back and braided and secured behind his head. The rest of it hangs loose down his back. He looks more like the man he showed in her in all those horrible paintings. This is closer to his true face.

She wonders if he looks like this in the waking world or if he can only accomplish it in the Fade. If he does, she wonders how he could have changed so much, so quickly.

His clothing is fussier than usual and she is surprised. She didn't realize it could be. His white silks and silverite armor have been replaced with black silks threaded with gold and dragonbone armor. Blood red rubies sit at his throat and his wrists. Nothing out of place---every line, every thread, every hair is perfect.

He does not smile.

"You have welcomed _them_ into our home," he says and he is furious.

"My home now," she says, "Not yours. I'll welcome whomever I like." And you can die, she thinks.

"You are ungrateful," he says, "After everything I have done for you---"

"After everything you've done to me," she corrects, she is trembling with rage, "After everything you've stolen from me. I can't even feed my own children because of you and you expect me to be grateful. You are delusional."

He does not step back like she wants him to. He steps forward. He is too angry to be afraid. He knows she doesn't know how to hurt him here.

"I made you beautiful again," he says, "You should be grateful. You should beg me to return. You are lucky I still want to."

Everything he says, every time he opens his mouth, he finds new ways to hurt her. He did not make her beautiful again. She was fine before. She was happier. He forced this change. He twisted her body into something she doesn't recognize.

She doesn't feel like herself. She thinks she should by now. She thinks she should have adjusted, accepted it, but she still can't. She looks in the mirror and she sees a stranger. None of this feels real.

"And you wonder why I won't love you," she says, "You can't even pull your head out of your ass long enough to listen to me."

"You are selfish and spoiled," she says, "And you are cruel. I will never be grateful. I will hate you until I die."

"I am better than you deserve," he says---there is a quiver in his voice before it hardens, there is hurt again and more rage. He still doesn't understand.

He twists her arm. He grabs her chin, forces her head back. She tries to push him away. She hits him. 

"Mother is corrupting you," he says, "You should not have taken her."

She can't even bring herself to laugh as ridiculous as it is. She doubts very much he's telling the truth, and if it was, she still wouldn't care. She would chose Mythal over him. Always. Every time.

Mythal can help her keep Neria and Mahanon safe. She can help her protect the last of her people. A piece of her soul a small price to pay for that protection. 

Her breath comes out a hiss. 

"I'm going to enjoy killing you," she says.

His frown deepens. His grip tightens---it starts to hurt. 

He tries to kiss her again. 

She bites him. She clamps down on his lower lip and she bites all the way through. She tastes his blood in her mouth. She tears a piece out of him and he screams. He lets go. He hits her.

She spits the chunk of flesh at his feet. 

There is only blood on his face for a moment before he banishes it. His lip mends but he is deathly pale. His hands are clenched but they are shaking.

"What is wrong with you?" he asks, horrified. As if he can't fathom why, as if the truth so completely eludes him. How many times does she have to tell him before he'll understand?

"How can you even ask me that?" she asks, "How can you be this stupid?" Or this crazy. He can not possibly believe he has been honorable and kind. He can not truly believe he is a good man worthy of her love. No. This is some kind of ridiculous game he's playing. It must be.

"This isn't you," he says, his voice falls flat, "This is Mother's doing."

"This is me," she says, "This is you. This is your own fault."

"No," he says, "This is Mother." She can hear the horror in his voice. It is beautiful. 

She laughs. It is a bitter sound. It is hard and cold and it unnerves him. She can tell. He steps back. He stares at her with far too much longing in his eyes.

"I will free you, vhenan," he says, because the only voice he ever hears is his own. 

"I promise," he says.

Let him try, she thinks.


	30. AOF: A Darkness Will Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is coming.

Mahanon is screaming again. He wakes her in the early hours of morning and he isn't hungry. He doesn't need to be changed. The healers insist he isn't sick.

It is almost as if he's afraid of something, but there is nothing here. She rocks him in the chair until he quiets. He won't go back to sleep, and when she tries to put him down, he cries. When he cries, Neria cries. They work each other up until they are almost choking.

"Oh, da'len, what am I supposed to do?" she asks.

It doesn't seem possible that Solas' child could hate sleeping, but he does. He fights it until he is too tired to fight it. He dozes for a few minutes and then he's awake again. He's crying again. Screaming.

The healers are no help.

"Let him cry."

"He'll tire himself out eventually."

"This is normal. You shouldn't worry so much."

This is not normal and she will worry as much as she pleases. What else is she supposed to do? Her son is miserable. He is afraid. He is suffering. Ellana sits on the floor with him and she is crying too. She can't make herself stop.

Niala comes. She takes him. She tells Ellana to get some sleep before she makes herself sick.

"We're friends, aren't we Mahanon?" Niala asks, "Tell Mamae you'll be fine."

"We'll go for a walk in the gardens to look at the pretty flowers," she continues, "That always helps, doesn't it?"

But Ellana just sits there and stares at her. Niala grips her wrist and pulls her up and Mahanon shrieks again. Maybe this is Ellana's fault. Maybe he hates her. He should. She is terrible.

Niala smiles.

"This really is normal," she says, "I know it doesn't seem like it, but I've had five and they all went through this. My youngest would only sleep for half an hour at a time and only during the day. It lasted six months. I could barely remember my own name by the end of it."

But Ellana hasn't seen Niala with any children. She can only guess they died when the Veil fell or before and she is afraid to ask. It isn't fair. She should have her babies still. She should be with them instead of here. And this is her fault too because she couldn't stop Solas.

"My girls would have loved you to pieces," Niala tells Mahanon, "Handsome little man. They always did love babies---well, except for my Nessa, my middle child, she said they were smelly, useless things. Wouldn't go near her sisters for the first two years."

"She wanted to trade them for new books," she says, and she laughs, "Books she shouldn't have been reading anyway---the Sword and Shields series. Pure filth. I still don't know how she got a hold of the first one." But she is still smiling, her gaze turned inward. Niala kisses Mahanon's hand. He hiccups but he doesn't stop crying. 

And Ellana sees Niala's pain. 

"I'm sorry," she says.

"So am I," she says, "They were good girls, they were my heart. Every once in a while I forget. I wake up and shout at them to get moving. I tell them to help the little ones and then I remember. And it's as bad as the night it happened."

"How?" Ellana asks, but she knows.

"The Veil fell," Niala says, "And they were gone."

Just like everyone. Most of the children weren't strong enough. There were only a few who survived.

"They say it gets better with time, but it doesn't," Niala says, "Try to get some sleep. Please."

How can she argue with her now? After that. Ellana relents. When Niala takes Mahanon for a walk, when Neria stops crying, she gets back in bed. She stares at the ceiling, and she doesn't think it will work because she is too worried, but then, she's asleep. She is in the Fade.

 

The meadow is white with tulips and Falon'Din looks like he's bleeding shadows into the air around him. It is like smoke. It is like ink. It is strange and it is ugly.

His armor is black. It is darker than obsidian. There is a bloodstone clasp for his cloak. It is the only bit of color he wears.

He is different but she doesn't know why.

"We will come to an accord," he says. the way he says it leaves no room for argument. He has spoken and she will fall in line. No. She will not.

"I doubt that," she says.

"We should not be apart," he says, "Our enemies are getting desperate. You can not hope to fight them alone."

"I don't hope to fight them at all," she says, "They are your enemies. Not mine." They are her friends. Her allies. She would give them anything they want if it meant he would suffer.

"Our enemies," he says, "And they will come for you. They will come for our children. Without me---"

"Without you, I am in no danger," she says, "Without you, I am safe and I am happy. We are better off without you."

He struggles to hide his fury. He tries. He fights it, but in the end, it is always a battle he can not win. It flares on his face. 

"I am tired of your venom," he says.

"I am tired of you," she says.

And now he is quiet. His gaze is hard. It is too intense, and no matter how she tries to stop herself, she is afraid. She has seen many terrible expressions on his face, but nothing quite like this. Nothing quite this dangerous.

She wonders if he's deciding to kill her. She hopes he's deciding he doesn't love her after all.

She tries not to flinch when he touches her face. She tries not to step back when he invades her space. She tries not to show fear. But it is difficult. His touch is horrible. It makes her think of what will happen, what always happens.

And she doesn't know if the darkness leaking out of him is something he's doing to frighten her or if it's something else. She doesn't really want to think about it.

"You will regret that, vhenan," he says, and his voice drops. It is low. It is not quite a whisper, "I look forward to the day we are reunited." He tangles his fingers in her hair and pulls too hard. He kisses her neck.

"As do I," she says, and it is all she can do to stay calm, to keep from screaming, "The courtyard needs a new statue. You will do quite nicely, don't you think?"

But he smiles. He laughs.

 

Abelas checks the wards along the perimeter, along the battlements. He is supposed to be recovering, resting. He is draining his mana instead. He is wearing himself out.

It could be all for nothing. Falon'Din could easily know how to dispel them. He has lost Mythal but he is still too powerful.

"What are you doing?" she asks. But it comes out an accusation. He bristles.

"Your defenses are abysmal," he says, "They're crumbling down around you."

"Some one else can see to that," she says.

"If that were true, it would have been done already," he snaps, but then he catches himself. He takes a breath. He presses his palms to the stone and bows his head.Then he stands tall again. He doesn't look at her. He stares at the ground in front of her.

"I am sorry," he says. She knows what this is. She feels it too.

"None of this is your fault," she says, but she doubts he will believe her. She wouldn't if the roles were reversed. She would blame herself for every life lost, every camp destroyed, every wrong committed. He is a good man, far too good to bear the weight of Falon'Din's crimes.

He looks at the horizon. He doesn't speak.

She doesn't know how to convince him. She doesn't know what to say.

There is still no sign of Mahariel and Sera. There is no sign of Merril and Cole. There is no sign of Fenris. She thinks that can only mean one thing. She thinks they are dead.

 

The next time Falon'Din appears, he is brighter. His edges are still dark and he is still bleeding shadows into the world, but his body almost seems to glow. Almost.

And he is smug again. He is so pleased with himself. He has done something, and whatever it is, it is terrible.

There are purple hyacinths and white tulips scattered across the hills. There are cypress trees. There is one, lone sunflower at the center of it all---it droops. It looks out of place.

"I have changed my mind," Falon'Din says, "You may keep Mother. When I return, I will bind her---she won't be able to manipulate you."

There is a sick twisting in her stomach. He is serious. He isn't pretending.

"What have you done?" she asks, wary. And she feels like she's screaming inside. This is wrong. He has done something. He has found something to make him feel strong again.

"What I must, ma sa'lath," he says. And his smile is crooked, it is sick.

"I don't believe you," she says. No. He has nothing. He is lying. He can't have found something to match Mythal. There was nothing left for him to take. But she feels something from Mythal. She feels a rumble of doubt, of uncertainty. 

He could have found something. 

He thinks he has found something.

His hands are on her hips, his fingers digging into her skin. He tries to kiss her. He tries to press against her.

When she shoves him, he grabs her wrists. He squeezes too hard. He twists them until she thinks they're going to break. It is close---just a little more pressure and they will. 

"None of that, vhenan," he says. He clucks at her.

"What have you done?" she asks, and she can not keep her voice steady. It breaks. And she is so cold.

He kisses her cheek. He kisses her neck. He presses his lips to her skin and holds them there, just breathing. She feels him smile. She feels the heat of his mouth, his breath.

"I'm looking forward to seeing you again," he says. He nips her collarbone. He sighs.

"Tell Abelas," he says, "I'm coming home."

 

Mahanon and Neria are screaming. They are red faced and crying so hard they are almost choking when she wakes. She can't pick them both up at once, but then Niala is here. She is scooping Neria up. She is rocking her, rubbing quick circles on her back.

"It's alright," Niala says, "It's alright." Ellana picks up Mahanon. She pretends she's not shaking.

_But he is coming._ She doesn't know when. She doesn't know how long they have.

"What happened?" Niala says, but Ellana thinks she's talking more to Neria. She is making soothing sounds. 

It hurts to breathe. If they have to run, she doesn't know what they'll do. 

She calls the guard.

"Find Abelas," she says. He runs. 

"What's wrong?" Niala asks, and now she's talking to Ellana. She's staring at her and she is afraid. 

But she can't. Not yet. She waits for Abelas, but he doesn't come. The guard returns---he is white faced. He is sweating.

No, she thinks. This isn't happening.

"He has gone to the gate," the guard says.

"Why?" she asks, she doesn't mean to yell, but she does. It startles Mahanon. It makes him shriek. She tries to breathe, tries to calm herself, for his and Neria's sake. They need to be protected from this. They need to be kept safe, happy.

"Someone has come," he says.

She knows who it must be. There is only one person who would think to come here. She doesn't want to wait. She doesn't want to see him again.

"We have to go," she says, "Help me."

"What are you talking about?" Niala asks, "Calm down."

But she isn't listening. She doesn't know what they need, what they can carry. Blankets, perhaps. She doesn't bother with clothes. She kisses Mahanon and yanks open her closet. She has a bag somewhere, half packed for this very moment. Just in case.

She loops it over her arm and Niala is almost shouting at her.

"Talk to me, what's happening?" she asks.

"There's no time," she says, they have taken too long already and she looks at the guard, "Come with us." And Mahanon squirms. He tries to bury his face in her chest. He pulls at the cotton.

Her heart is racing.

He can't already be here. He doesn't have the eluvians. He can't. There is no way---

Niala grabs her arm. She pulls her back.

"Stop. Breathe," she commands, "Falon'Din won't come back. You've bested him---"

"He has done something," she says, "We have to go." But they can't run like this. The guard shifts, uncomfortable. He looks down the hall. He goes tense.

She hears footsteps. It is already too late.

There is a moment, just a moment---Abelas stands in the doorway. He looks at her and she is struck by the sight of his face. He is not afraid. 

Some of the panic ebbs. He is not afraid so it must not be Falon'Din. She is panicking and it is not Falon'Din. She tries to breathe. She tries to calm herself.

"Who?" she asks. Her voice breaks. It must be Mahariel. It has to be.

But Abelas doesn't get a chance. He is pushed out of the way and there is no time to think about what's happening. She is staring up into Fenris' face. He is here. He is alive.

He touches her, his palm to her cheek. He kisses her, carefully. He angles his body so he isn't crushing her or Mahanon. And she can't remember how she's supposed to move her lips.

He is here. 

He is alive. 

This is not a dream.

When he breaks for breath, she sees the damage to his eye. Someone has tried to heal it. It has regenerated enough that there's something there, but it is a milky white orb. It is cloudy. There is no way he can see with it.

"How?" she asks, and that is all she can say. Her throat is too tight, her tongue too thick. She is crying now. She feels the wetness on her cheeks. He smiles, and she realizes, he is crying too.

He kisses her again.

He does.


	31. AOF: The Flutter of Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something is disturbing Mahanon.

Merrill helps her reinforce the wards. Abelas is not satisfied until they do. If Falon'Din is coming, and he is coming, he will get a nasty surprise when he tries to breech their walls.

Elgar'nan's magic is a little terrifying. It isn't that it's powerful, it's that it is intense. The pulse of it is overwhelming. She doesn't think many would be able to control it.

But Merrill can. She does. 

"Let him come now," Abelas says, "Let him try." There is a fierce look glittering in his eyes. There is something dark, there is something hard. 

He is mad with grief. He must be to say such a thing. She doesn't want Falon'Din to come here. She doesn't want him to try.

"He has gotten his hands on more power somehow," she says, "We don't know if we can fight him."

"The Evanuris subdued him once before," he says, "There are three of you now. You have the combined power of four of them---he doesn't have a chance."

"Elgar'nan and Mythal would have been more than enough," he continues, "With Sylaise and Ghilan'nain, you will be unstoppable."

She can see it----he wants Falon'Din to burn. He thinks he will. He believes in them.

Maybe Mahariel and Sera will come. Maybe they're still safe. She hopes they are. She hopes Falon'Din hasn't found them and stolen Andruil's power for himself. She hopes he hasn't found the piece of Dirthamen in Mahariel's sword.

But he might have. He might have and it scares her.

 

When she is alone with Fenris, she doesn't know what to say. She doesn't know what she's supposed to do. But she knows what she wants to do. She knows what she wants.

His breath hitches when she asks him to stay with her. His eyes go wide and he can't seem to speak. He nods.

He balks when she tugs at his shirt though, when she pulls it loose and touches his skin. She has a moment, just a moment. She sighs and feels his heat and she is aching. But he takes her hand. 

"There's no rush. We can wait," he says. He kisses her cheek instead of her lips. He smooths his palms across her back. He holds her before he pulls away.

She is disappointed. She wants to do more than this. There has only been Falon'Din for so long. She can't remember what it's like and she needs to remember. She wants it to be with Fenris. She wants to touch him.

But she doesn't push him. He doesn't want more than this and that is all there is to it. She feels like her smile is crooked, stretched too tight. She says she understands. She says this is fine. She doesn't think she's very convincing.

But he doesn't leave. 

He sleeps on her floor with nothing more than a blanket and a pillow. It can't be comfortable, but he won't be moved. He won't join her in her bed. 

 

She finds herself resting in her aravel. The camp is quiet, but she hears the hunters beginning to stir. She smells the smoke of the camp fire. She feels the chill of the early morning air.

She feels the heat of the body lying next to her, that is curled around her. Strong arms, the broad expanse of his chest, his cheek pressed to hers---she starts to panic because she thinks this is Falon'Din. But he only stirs, sleepy and confused. 

Solas then. The Fade has decided to torment her with his memory instead. She lets him pull her back into his arms. She lets him murmur words of comfort. She lets him kiss her hair.

This is an old dream. It is a good dream. 

"Another nightmare?" he asks.

'Yes," she says.

"Let me chase it away," he says, and his hands are in her hair, tugging her head up. He kisses her. He parts his lips over hers and she remembers what it was like to be with him.

"I wish you were real," she says.

She feels him jolt a little. She feels him tense.

"I am real," he says, he smiles, "I'm the man who loves you."

"You're a dream," she says, "None of this is real."

But his gaze is too intense. It feels real. 

He feels real. The Fade is cruel.

"Tell me you love me," he says. She thinks it's a strange thing to say when he's just been told he's a piece of the Fade. But the face he wears is not twisted and cruel. It isn't leering at her. 

This face is soft. This face is kind. This face is the face of a man she loved. And his voice is sweet. 

"I'm sorry, Solas," she says, sorry because he is gone and this is a lie. She's thinking of the real Solas---how he must have felt when he was ripped apart and trapped inside a monster such as Falon'Din. She thinks of him and it is too much to bear.

He will never meet his daughter. He will never meet his son.

"Ar lath ma, vhenan," he says, he prompts---as if saying it in Common isn't enough. As if it isn't right.

She feels the heat in her eyes. She feels wetness leak out the corners.

"Ar lath ma," she says. But she knows this isn't Solas. This is just a dream. 

He smiles. He rolls her under him. He pins her arms to the bed and he kisses her like he is real. The hard length of him presses against her and she remembers the last time they were together. The real Solas. Not Falon'Din wearing his body. She remembers the way they argued. She remembers how they were always at odds toward the end. If she could take it all back, she would. 

When he breaks for breath, he looks at her and she sees something there. His smile is not so kind. It is not so soft. It is too familiar.

"It won't be long now," Solas says, and he kisses her again. His tone makes her shiver. It makes her think of someone else. 

"What did you say?" she asks. It is just the Fade, twisting things again. It has to be.

"Do you miss me, vhenan?" he asks. 

He kisses her, he tries to, and he laughs when she turns her head. This is not Solas, but it isn't a piece of the Fade either. it is worse. The realization chokes her. He is Falon'Din, she realizes, and he has tricked her. He has toyed with her again. He taints Solas' memory, this dream and he does it because he can, because it amuses him. It makes her stomach twist.

Falon'Din. 

She should not be surprised. Why is she surprised? She tries to push him off of her but his arms are like iron. The darkness starts to leech out of him again. She doesn't know how he disguised it, how he hid it from her.

"I'm coming for you, vhenan," he says.

 

Mahanon wakes screaming again. He wakes her. He shatters the horrible dream. She nearly trips over Fenris, trying to get to him. 

"Oh, no, love, not again," she says, and it is too late, Neria is screaming now too. She tucks Mahanon against her chest and shifts so she can rub her belly---one of the few places Neria doesn't mind being touched. It doesn't help this time.

Mahanon is inconsolable.

Ellana still feels like she's trapped in the aravel under Falon'Din. Her skin is still crawling with it. She is still reeling. 

Fenris staggers to his feet, she doesn't notice until he's picking Neria up. He is bleary eyed but he doesn't hesitate. And Neria is not pleased at first. She protests. She squirms. She doesn't know this strange man, not really, but the glowing lines on his skin are wonderful. Her cries soften to whimpers. She sniffles. She stares. She hiccups.

"Just be careful of her head," Ellana says, "She hates to be touched there---"

He murmurs something unintelligible. He sort of shuffles back and forth, and Neria stops whimpering, stops squirming. She yawns. She burrows into him, her face against his chest. Ellana wonders if he has done this before.

She rubs Mahanon's back and kisses his cheek.

"It's ok," she says,"Mamae's here. You're safe, da'len."

And now she wonders. Do babies have nightmares? Is that was this is? Something terrible ripples in the pit of her stomach---she has nightmares too. Her nightmares are real. Maybe his are too.

Falon'Din wouldn't stoop so low though, would he? He wouldn't terrify his own children. Would he? And he was with her anyway. He was too busy tormenting her to trouble her children.

Mahanon snuffles. He makes a miserable sound and his eyes are still so wet, his face so horribly red.

"I wish you could tell me what's wrong," she says. And she is crying too. Not just for Mahanon and Neria, but for Solas. The dream is still too fresh. The moment of calm, the peacefulness, the feeling of home---Falon'Din ruined it. He stole a piece of quiet and he warped it. He thinks it's funny. He thinks he has the right.

She can't even hide from him in her dreams. Not even there.

It takes hours for Mahanon to settle again. Fenris takes him when Neria settles, because Ellana can't seem to do anything right---she feels like the worst mother in all the world. Everything that happens, it is her fault.

Mahanon quiets for Fenris. He yawns. He laughs, he tries to catch a fist full of Fenris' hair. He falls asleep with his head tucked in the crook of his arm. He doesn't wake when Fenris lays him down beside his sister. He sleeps. He looks peaceful.

"You're too hard on yourself," Fenris says, "Try to go back to sleep."

"I'll watch over you," he says.

It should make her feel better, but it doesn't. There's nothing he could hope to do. 

"Please," he says. He sighs. 

When he looks at her like this, she knows, she has no defense. He is soft and beautiful and he cares. She could try to deny it, but now she knows what it looks like on his face. He cares. He wants her to be safe and happy. Her shoulders slump. She has lost this battle.

She lets him steer her back to bed. She watches while he settles on the floor again. She wishes he'd join her instead.

 

She does manage to sleep again. She doesn't know for how long. It feels like she shuts her eyes for just a moment. 

Then something brushes her face. She feels the press of lips to her forehead. She feels the weight of a body ease beside her on the mattress. 

When she opens her eyes, she sees Mahanon, red faced again but quiet. He looks at her. He kicks his feet. He smiles. He laughs.

And Fenris is sitting beside her, holding him.

"He was fussing again," he says, and he looks uncomfortable. He waits until she sits up before he passes him to her. And Mahanon is thrilled. 

"You haven't been sleeping well, have you, da'len," she says, she explains.

"Yes, I've noticed," Fenris says, but he gives her a smile.

Mahanon squeals and grabs for her face, her hair, her nose. He kicks his feet again. He stuffs his fingers in his mouth. And blessedly, Neria is still asleep. Oh, how things have changed, she thinks. In the beginning, Neria was the one who couldn't sleep. She was the one who woke up every few hours.

She looks at Fenris and she doesn't know what to say. It doesn't seem possible he's here. She keeps thinking she's going to wake up, she's going to find out this just the Fade, this is just a beautiful lie.

"I missed you," she says.

"I missed you too," he says. He smiles. She thinks he's going to kiss her. He leans in. He slides his palm against her cheek, threads his fingers through her hair---

Neria lets out a shriek. She cries. She screams. And then Fenris is scrambling to fetch her.

Ellana can't help it. She's laughing. Neria has the Lavellan gift of terrible timing.

"She's hungry," she says, "Niala will be here to feed her. She's probably already heard. Just a few minutes, love." She says the last of it to Neria, as if she can understand, as if she cares for excuses.

Her father is a fool.

Fenris looks at her and he is confused.

"Niala?" he asks.

"You met her earlier," she says.

His confusion does not abate. He glances at Neria and then at her again. And suddenly she knows where his thoughts have taken him. This is another conversation she doesn't need to have, doesn't want to have. And he doesn't need to know. Falon'Din has done so many things to her, to all of them. She doesn't understand it but this is the one that hurts the most. 

And now Mahanon is fussing too. His fingers are a poor substitute for warm milk. 

There is nothing else she can do for them. This isn't fair. There must be a spell to fix this, she thinks, but she doesn't know what it could be. She can't even beginning to guess what spell she could use.

"What's wrong?" Fenris asks.

She can't answer. Her thoughts are too jumbled and there is too much anger. Her words will tumble over each other and she will be incoherent, incomprehensible. She will say the wrong thing. He will take it the wrong way.

But she is rescued by Niala anyway. She knocks. She opens the door and her cheeks go pink when she sees Fenris sitting with Ellana on her bed. But she smiles. She looks oddly amused.

"Good morning," she says.

Neria is reaching for Niala. She sits with her in the rocking chair and feeds her and Fenris understands who she is and why she's here. Niala is the woman keeping her children alive. She is keeping them fed. 

Ellana feels terrible again.

 

She finds Merrill and Velanna in the library, picking through the Falon'Din's notes to the archivist. Everything he asked him to research is here. Everything he asked him to do has been carefully recorded. There are stacks and stacks of papers. There are leather bound journals. There is too much to go through.

"There must be something here," Velanna says, and she smiles. She greets her with a nod.

"What are you looking for?" Ellana asks.

"If he has gone and made himself more powerful, there must be a hint to what he's done," Velanna continues.

"Something with spirits, perhaps," Merrill says, "Or sacrifices. Some kind of ancient blood magic..

Ellana feels a flicker of something in her chest. This is something she can help with. This is something she knows how to do. She sits and takes one of the stacks of papers.

She sees alarm on Velanna's face and Merrill looks uncomfortable.

"What?" she asks. She doesn't want to be shooed away. They can not believe she's intruding. That is absurd.

"Just, brace yourself," she says, "There are a lot of---other things. It isn't just requisitions and notes. Some of it will be rather shocking."

She doesn't like the sound of that. Not at all.

"Explain," she says.

Velanna reaches for one of the larger stacks of paper. It had been shoved off to the side, she hadn't even noticed it. But when Velanna flips over the top sheet, she understands.

It's a picture. Ellana sees her own face, her eyes shut, her body relaxed. It was drawn while she was sleeping. Every detail is perfect. Her face, her scars. Every detail is correct. The second paper is much the same. She is peaceful, smiling. She is...nude. She flips over another page and another. Her again. Sleeping. Sitting. Smiling. Her face. Her body. Over and over again. And she knows he drew them himself. There is no one else who could have.

This is not Solas' handiwork. She knows his style. She knows his line work, his brush strokes. This is heavy and furious. This is obsessive. 

She doesn't understand. She doesn't remember Falon'Din doing any of this. She didn't even know he could draw.

There are a few sketches of Neria and Mahanon too. And there are some of Fenris and Abelas---but she doesn't have the stomach to look at more than one of those. He has drawn what he will do to them when he catches them. In perfect detail. 

She wonders now if all of those horrible paintings of him and her and Dirthamen were his own paintings, his own work.

"There are more," Velanna says, "We've been separating them from the pile as we go. Almost every other page is a drawing."

She thinks they should burn the damn things. She thinks she should have known about this already. She should have searched on her own after he left, but she couldn't even stand to look at his hand writing. She let it sit untouched. She was irresponsible.

She feels strange, uncomfortable.

"We can do this ourselves, lethallan," Merrill says. She offers a smile.

"I'm fine," Ellana insists. She tamps down the voice that tells her she isn't. She can get through this. She will.

Zevran joins them later. He helps sort through the stacks---he doesn't comment on the sketches. He doesn't joke. He doesn't make light of it, and if anything, he looks concerned. She is relieved---she expected him to make this uncomfortable.

There is a map of a mountain city. There is a map of the Deep Roads and the Grey Warden Prison where they found Dirthamen. There is a map marked with the different locations of the rebel camps. There are notes about the rebels, their abilities, their powers. Everyone important, everyone of note is mentioned.

There are pages about Abelas. Pages and pages and pages.

There is even more about Fenris. His life, his past, his habits. Hawke. There is so much about Hawke. She sets it aside when she realizes what she's reading. Nothing here will tell her what Falon'Din has done to make himself more powerful.

If Fenris wants her to know about Hawke, he'll tell her himself.

And Cole, where ever he is, doesn't appear. He has nothing to fear from her people. They have welcomed him just the same as they've welcomed everyone. She wonders what's wrong. Something must be bothering him.

 

It is late before she turns in. They have found nothing in Falon'Din's papers to indicate what he might have found. They find nothing that will help them. It has only served to disturb her, unsettle her.

Fenris kisses her but he doesn't join her in bed. He sleeps on the floor again. He has spent the day with Abelas, checking and re-checking the defenses, sparring with the soldiers who are well enough to spar, and helping with whatever else is needed. He is exhausted. She knows the floor can't be comfortable.

When she finally drifts off to sleep. She sees the Fade. She sees flowers, so many flowers, red carnations and white tulips. She sees the swirl of darkness around Falon'Dn. This time, he doesn't pretend to be Solas, he doesn't hide what he is. She wants to wake up.

When is this going to end? When is he going to stop?

"How dare you," she says.

He arches an eyebrow. He looks amused.

"I dare many things, you'll have to be more specific, vhenan."

But where does she begin? Pretending to be Solas, letting her thinks he was him, taking advantage of her confusion. His horrible drawings, the sketches he made of her. The camps he destroyed. The people he killed. But there is a more pressing issue. 

"Have you been in Mahanon's dreams?" she asks, before he can speak, "Because he's too young to understand. Stop it." She doesn't want to give him the chance. She wants to stop him from steering the conversation. Mahanon is a baby. He needs to rest. He should never have to feel Falon'Din in his mind, his dreams.

His brow furrows. He looks confused---a little offended.

"What are you talking about?" he asks.

"Something's disturbing his sleep," she says, "It's exactly something you would do."

His expression shifts. He is offended but then he's furious. He is seething. He pushes her back, gets in her space, and then he's breathing against her throat. 

"He senses the upheaval you've caused," he says, "He misses his Papae. He wants me to come home." No, he doesn't, she thinks.

Falon'Din gets a hand behind her, he cups her ass. He squeezes. He rubs against her, hard again, impossibly hard. The feel of it makes her stomach lurch.

"You're like a dog in heat," she says,"Let go of me."

"No," he says, "I will not." He drags her closer. He presses himself so tightly to her there is no space between them.

"I'm owed far more than this for the trouble you've caused," he continues. His voice is harsh, it is thick, it is like poison.

He is wrong, she thinks. He is owed nothing. He is owed nothing at all. 

"When I return," he says, "I have half a mind to strip you bare and keep you chained to our bed, so you're always waiting for me. Or maybe I'll get you with child again. We were happiest then. You were biddable. You were dutiful. You loved me. Maybe I'll keep you that way."

"Try it and see where you'll be," she says. It will never happen again. She will tear him apart, with her bare hands if she has to.

He stops. He gets a hand around her throat. He squeezes and she is fighting not to gasp, not to struggle. She doesn't want to give him the satisfaction.

He is disgusting. He is horrible.

"You will never have the chance to hurt me again," Falon'Din says. And finally, he eases his grip. He leans in as if to kiss her, he does, and it is bizarre he would think she'd welcome it after that. How could anyone? 

"You will have to kill me if you want to stop me, Falon'Din. I do not love you. I have never loved you," she says, "I will never love you." And I will find a way to rip you apart, she thinks.

"I'll kill you myself if I can," she whispers, "If you chain me to my bed, I'll choke you with them."

"You will try, vhenan," he says, "You will fail."

She laughs. She laughs and she thinks she's going mad.

 

Cole is standing over the crib the next time she wakes and the look on his face scares her. She thinks, for one terrible second, he's going to hurt them. She thinks something is wrong. He has broken again, but worse this time.

She is only just scrambling to her feet when he reaches for Mahanon. He grips the air and pulls and then something comes loose. And Fenris is rounding on him, ready to stop him---but he sees what is happening when she does. He realizes what this is.

Cole is not looking at her children. He is not hurting them. He is looking at something else. Something she can't even see.

She looks with the Sight. The air shimmers and she sees what he has caught. There is a bird. A spirit. And it is familiar. She remembers. This was one of the spirits Falon'Din brought when he chased her from Stone-Bear Hold, when he caught her in Ostagar.

The spirit bird struggles. It cries out. It...shatters. 

Cole does something to it and the pieces pull into him. The spirit is gone. Dead. And Cole burns a little brighter for just a moment.

She doesn't know when it happens, but she is gripping Fenris' arm. She is holding on to tight. She can feel her heart racing---it all but leaps into her throat when Cole looks at Neria. The thing troubling Mahanon wasn't the only one, she realizes, and she is flooded with horror. Cole snatches a second bird out of the air. He breaks it, just like he broke the first. He steals the pieces of it. 

She can't speak. She can't breathe. Those thing had been troubling her children, likely troubling them since Falon'Din fled. She hadn't known. She hadn't guessed.

It is a small miracle they slept through all of it. It is almost too much to stand here, watching them. She wants to snatch them up, protect them. She wants to scream.

"Fear and Deceit," Cole says, "But they were not his to command. He couldn't control them. He tried but they wouldn't listen."

"They were only supposed to watch," he continues.

She doesn't know what she would have done if Cole hadn't been here. She doesn't know what would have happened.

Fenris puts his hands on her shoulders.

"They're safe now," he says, "Nothing can get to them."

But something already got to them. She hadn't even known. She has failed them again.


	32. AOF: In His Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He makes her happy.

Neria laughs. She bends her legs and pushes up until he shifts her to his hip. She pokes the lines of lyrium on his chin. She gets a fist full of his hair and stuffs it in her mouth.

His eyes crinkle. He laughs.

"That is---no," he says, "Silly girl." His voice rumbles and arousal sparks low in her belly. She thinks she shouldn't feel like this, but she does. He is wonderful.

When he extracts his hair from Neria grasp, she grabs his nose and slobbers on his cheek. She babbles nonsense at him and he pretends he understands. It does ridiculous things to Ellana's heart. 

Mahanon whimpers and flails his arms, demanding her attention. She kisses his belly and he shrieks with laughter.

With Fear and Deceit gone, they have been sleeping again. They are happy again. but she is still worried. It is just a matter of time before Falon'Din makes his move. He is coming. She knows.

She hasn't told Fenris about the notes Falon'Din kept on him, on Hawke. She doesn't know how to bring it up. She needs to though. He has a right to know.

He lifts Neria over his head. He makes silly noises. She squeals.

It is a rare moment of peace.

It shatters when Abelas comes. Of course. Because he has been restless for days. The quiet has disturbed him. 

"I'm taking a small team," he says, "I'm going after Mahariel."

He is not well enough to go searching for Mahariel. He has only just recovered and his people are in no better shape.

"You aren't serious," she says.

She shifts Mahanon to her hip and stares at him. Abelas doesn't care. He has made up his mind. He has decided and anyone who disagrees can be damned.

"You know me well enough by now to know I don't make light of such things," he says, "I'm going."

Fenris is quiet. He doesn't protest, but she does. This is ridiculous. He can't just leave. He's safe here. Falon'Din can't touch him here.

"It's already been decided," he says. He insists.

And she wonders if Mythal could make him stop. She wishes she would but she doesn't feel so much as a flicker from her. And when she prods, the soul retreats. It shrinks from her. It ignores her.

"Who are you taking?" she asks. She will protest if he tries to take Merrill or Velanna. She feels safer with them here. She doesn't want to fight him on this.

"No one you know," he says. Her relief is short lived though. Because Abelas is going and she wants him here too.

"I don't like it," she says. Mahanon chews on her shoulder.

"We have no choice," Abelas says.

She can tell Fenris agrees and it makes anger spark in her belly. They do have a choice. Mahariel is the Hero of Fereldan. He doesn't really need Abelas to track him down. Whatever he's doing, it's better if he's left to it.

But she wishes Sera was here. She does.

She forces herself to breathe and relax. She knows the look Abelas is wearing. There is no arguing with him. He has made up his mind. And maybe he is right. Maybe someone needs to bring Mahariel back---if Falon'Din is coming, and he is coming, they need Sera. They need everyone they can get.

"Just be careful," she says.

He doesn't smile. He nods. He goes.

 

She feels worse about it as the day passes. She tries to help Velanna and Merrill again, but she thinks she is useless. The sketches Falon'Din has drawn of her make her uneasy. It is hard to concentrate on the task.

She kisses Fenris when they're alone again, when he turns to look at her. 

She gets her arms around his neck and pulls him down. There is a moment he doesn't respond---she starts to regret it. But then his arms are snaking around her and he is taking over, steering her back, kissing her as though she's all he wants from this world.

Her back hits the wall and he lifts her. He gets her legs around his waist and she is struck by the force of her need. It twists in her gut. It makes her shudder. Where he presses against her, that is the only thing real, that is the only thing that exists.

His fingers fumble with the hem of her shirt, but after a tense moment, he gets his hands under it. His finger tips skim her stomach, they slide up. He makes her shiver.

But there is a moment. She feels like his hands are someone else's. She feels like his body is someone else's. She sees someone else's smile. It is just for an instant but it is overwhelming. She wants to push him away. She wants to run, but she can't move. She freezes. She goes stiff.

Fenris stops. He pulls back to look at her. And he looks broken.

"He's not here," he says, "You're safe." His voice is soothing but it takes a minute for her head to clear. When it does, she tries to kiss him again. He shakes his head. He starts to pull away. He slides her legs down to the ground again.

"We can go slow," he says, "We can wait until you're ready."

"But I am ready, " she says. She has been ready for months and months and months. She doesn't want to stop because of Falon'Din. She doesn't want to let him win. 

When she kisses him again, he makes a sweet sound against her lips. She thinks he's going to push her away again, but he lifts her again. He gets her legs around his waist again and she feels the hard press of him. 

She wants this. She wants him. 

"Please, Fenris," she says.

"We can stop," he says, "Whenever you want. For any reason."

His arms are shaking, just a little.

"I don't want to stop," she says. She whispers.

"Ellana," he says, she hears frustration---she sees frustration. He is trying to be patient and she is being difficult.

"I haven't been with anyone but him in a very long time," she says, "I can't remember what it was like before. I need to remember."

"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to," she says, "You can say no and I'll understand." But she wants him to say yes. She wants him to help her forget.

She takes a breath because he is looking at her like she's precious, like she's everything. How is she supposed to breathe when he looks at her like that?

"I want to be with you, Fenris," she says when she can. Her throat feels too tight and her face too hot. 

She says, "I love you." And it sounds so very loud in the quiet. His breath hitches. And his face, gods his face. He is so very pale. It feels like time stops. 

She thinks she shouldn't have said it. Not this soon. But she did and she wouldn't take it back for all the world. She does love him. They wasted too much time before and they almost lost each other. If Falon'Din is coming back, she doesn't want to let any more time pass without saying it.

Fenris looks a little terrified.

But he doesn't let go.

"I love you too," he says. She hears the tremble in his voice. She sees it in his eyes. 

She wants to tell him its alright if he doesn't really, but he cups her face. He tilts her head back and the kiss he gives her is wild, desperate. It is so full of want. He steals her breath away.

She doesn't expect it when he breaks for air. He looks into her eyes and she doesn't know what he's going to say. She can't guess what he means to do next.

"Promise me. You'll tell me if it gets to be too much," he says, "We'll stop. If you feel for a moment---"

She nods. But she is lying. She doesn't want to stop. She wants to do this. She needs it.

They go slow. _He_ goes slow. And she doesn't want to admit it, but it is a good thing he does. Every so often she is hit with an inexplicable rush of panic, of fear. And every time, he feels it. When she tenses up, he asks if she wants to stop. He waits. He starts again when she asks him to.

It is almost excruciating the way he removes each article of clothing---the way he kisses every part of her, his breath hot on her skin. The way he lowers her to the bed, the way he eases himself between her thighs. She likes the way he looks at her. She likes how soft his face is, how warm. She feels beautiful. She feels cared for, loved.

He kisses a path down her stomach. 

His thumb brushes the most sensitive part of her---he spreads her open. He circles the bundle of nerves lightly and he looks at her. He hesitates, waiting for her consent. She isn't quite sure what he intends, but she nods, she trusts him.

He kisses her there. He tastes her.

He flicks her clit with his tongue and she is arching off the bed. He does it again and it is better. She feels a ripple of pleasure, the warmth spreading out. It has been a long time since anyone did this for her. She had forgotten...

His mouth is hot. So very hot. 

It takes a moment to get the pace right, to get the pull of it right, but he does. He covers her clit with his mouth again and she is squirming. She's begging. She doesn't recognize the sound of her own voice. All that matters is the soft of his lips, the slide of his tongue, his heat.

He eases a finger inside her but it is not enough. She wants more. She wants him, all of him.

She breathes. She tries to stop her heart from racing.

She is going to ask to touch him---she is going to but she is caught off guard. He drags his tongue against her and all at once she is coming. She is shuddering. She is sparking. He pulls her over the edge and she is lost and fighting for breath.

He trails kisses up along her belly, and higher, between her breasts. Higher. She can feel him straining. and she is hit with another inexplicable spike of fear. He is not going to hurt her. She knows he isn't but the feel of him, hard against her belly, is almost too much. She thinks of Falon'Din again of the way he pushed inside her when she was too dry, always too dry, the way he forced himself in, and she is shaking.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

She nods. She doesn't trust herself to speak. She doesn't want to stop. She wills herself to calm.

"We can stop," he says, "It's alright." 

But she shakes her head. She urges him closer. She tugs at his pants, she tries to shove them down over his hips. And her hands are still shaking. They are useless

"Ellana?" he asks. His brow furrows. He looks like he wants to pull back, to stop.

"Please," she says. Her voice breaks, "Please." And then she is alright. She is.

He hesitates for just a moment more and then he is easing out of his pants. He stretches over her, settles between her legs. He kisses her again, his fingers catching in her hair. It has never been this wonderful. She knows it hasn't.

"Are you sure?" he asks again.

"If you don't take me now, I am going to scream," she says. And that will wake Neria and Mahanon. It will wake everyone. 

The smile he gives her is lopsided, crooked. 

He sinks into her and she forgets how to breathe. She wraps her legs around him, she pulls him in deeper. He rocks, slow again, impossibly slow. The stretch of him, the press of his body against hers, it is better than she thought it could be.

This is what she wanted. 

He is who she wanted.

She tries not to think of Falon'Din. She tries to think of Fenris and the way this feels, only that, but he keeps creeping back to the edges of her thoughts. His hands, his touch, the crush of his lips against hers. For so long, there was only that, only him.

Fenris doesn't trap her. He doesn't fight her. His kiss is not so forceful. He doesn't hold her down and come inside of her. He doesn't hurt her. 

He touches her where she wants to be touched. He stops when he thinks she wants him to stop---he asks. He whispers _I love yous_ against her skin and he means it. 

He quickens his pace---still slower than she likes, still just a bit softer, but there is something to be said for it. She arches. She gets a hand between them and tries to help herself along. He shifts. He alters the angle just a bit and that is all she needs.

She comes again and it is all she can do just to hold on to him. 

He thrusts a few more times, riding out her orgasm. But then he pulls out. He spills into his hand. He collapses beside her on the pillows. 

He is still flushed, still gasping when she looks at him. This is what it's supposed to be like, she thinks, and she is happy. Gods help her but she is.

 

She convinces him to stay in bed with her. She falls asleep in his arms. 

She has a moment to realize she's in the Fade before Falon'Din snatches her up. Before he gets his arms around her. Before he crushes his lips to hers and steals the last of her breath.

She pushes him. She hits him. But he doesn't let go. He pulls her closer.

"Vhenan," he says, "Stop this." But she is not his vhenan. She is Fenris' vhenan and he is hers. Falon'Din is lying to himself.

There are aloe plants scattered across the meadow. There are pink begonias and white tulips. There are drooping tiger lilies, their leaves brown---wilting. And the sky is dark. There are thunder clouds rolling in the distance, lightning dancing beneath them.

But Falon'Din is darker. He is colder. And his skin is so very pale.

"You are a bastard," she says. She snarls and he laughs. But he won't be laughing when he knows what she's done. He'll be furious.

"This isn't funny," she says.

Some of the mirth fades from his face. 

"What is it this time?" he asks and he sounds bored, "What have I done now?" As if she is prone to telling lies about him. As if he is such a good, kind man. He couldn't possibly be guilty of whatever she has decided to accuse him of doing.

"You sent Fear and Deceit to torture my children," she says. That makes him start. He bristles. He pales.

"I did no such thing," he says.

But he looks concerned. He looks surprised. She doesn't believe him and it is not hard to banish any doubts she has.

"Don't lie to me," she says, "It is beneath you."

His expression twists and he is seething, raging. She doesn't care. He is a monster who sends spirits to frighten infants, whether he admits it or not. He doesn't care what happens, as long as he gets his way. He would hurt even them. 

"I would never harm our children," he says.

"You would have," she says, "You did. You sent spirits after them. They're only babies. They need their sleep---if it wasn't for Cole, who knows what would have happened?" She doesn't dare consider it. None of it should have ever happened. They should have been safe. 

Falon'Din grips her arms too tight. 

"How could you think I could do such a thing?" he asks, he snaps, "I wouldn't frighten my own children."

"My children," she corrects, "Mine. And you did. You did exactly that."

"Ours," he says, "Yours and mine. We made them together, or have you forgotten?"

"I wish I could," she says.

It is always a little funny when he looks at her like she has hurt him. Like he could actually really care what she thinks. He barely hears her anyway, she doubts this means anything. He is just trying to manipulate her again. She would have thought he'd know better by now.

"I would never hurt our children," he repeats.

He sounds a little desperate now. He looks a little desperate. His eyes are wide. They are wild.

"You sent Fear and Deceit," she says, "You did. They sat in their crib and terrorized them. They were so afraid---"

"Fear and Deceit were only supposed to watch. I didn't know---"

"You should have," she says, "This is your fault."

He tries to kiss her, to make her stop, but she gets her head turned away just in time. She curses him. She screams at him.

She can't stand the way it feels with his arms around her. She can't stand the brush of his skin against hers. And his lips. She can't bear it.

She thinks of Fenris and how he held her. She thinks of his touch. She thinks of the way he looked at her when he told her he loved her. She thinks of him and she can almost breathe again.

"I'm sorry," Falon'Din says, "I didn't know---"

But that is a lie. How could he not know? How could he admit he didn't know? When she tries to hit him again, he catches her wrist. He squeezes it too hard and she feels like it's going to break. 

"Let go of me," she says.

"No," he says.

"Not until you tell me you believe me," he continues, "I would never hurt our children. Say it."

She doesn't recognize the look of pleading he gives her. She doesn't recognize the soft desperation. It is too strange on his face. It is too like Solas. But he is gone.

"I love you all," he says, "You are my family. I would never---" 

But she is feeling dangerous. She is angry. She hates him and she wants to hurt him. 

"Not your family," she says, "We were never yours." 

"Stop," he says, "You're my wife. My heart." But she can't stop. She is too angry. She is burning too hot and all she can think about is tearing him apart.

"I hate you," she says, "I'm not your anything. I have someone who loves me and it is real. He would never hurt me. He would never send spirits to frighten my children. He'd protect them. He would watch over them. Not like you. He's better." 

"So much better," she continues. 

She relishes the pain in his eyes. The look of shock when she says it. She even relishes the rage, the hatred she sees on his face.

She will never be his. Never again. 


	33. AOF: This Is Not A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This happiness will not last.

Fenris pushes her up against the wall, his hands gliding over her hips. He gets her legs around his waist. He kisses her throat. He nips the pulse point.

"Ellana," he says. He grinds his hips against her.

She can't speak. There is something too delicious about his hardness pressing against her. 

"I'm going to fuck you until you come," he says, "And then I'll take you again. And again..." His voice trails off but the promise remains. She feels the tickle of his hair against her cheek.

She feels him smile, his lips still pressed to her skin. He ghosts a palm over one of her breasts and she is moaning. She actually is.

She is already so wet---if he doesn't take her soon, she doesn't know what she'll do.

But the quiet is shattered by an ear piercing shriek. Someone starts to cry. First one voice, and then another. Neria and Mahanon are awake. They are awake and furious.

Fenris laughs. 

He kisses her shoulder and then her hand. He pulls back, still smiling. 

He kisses her lips one more time. 

Duty calls.

Neria has knocked her toy nug out of the crib. She's gotten Mahanon's caught by its ears, hanging over the edge. She has rolled on to her stomach, trying to free it, and she is soaked. Mahanon is worse. So much worse.

Fenris retrieves the nug from the floor. Neria lights up when she sees it. She reaches. She strains. She turns even redder when she can't immediately reach it.

"Here now, none of that, love," she says, "You're a mess."

Fenris gives her the nug and then scoops up Mahanon. 

"I'll help," he says. But he has chosen poorly. She can see from here---she can smell from here. Mahanon has filled his diaper. 

Fenris gets started. He makes a face and that is all.

Neria chews on the nug's poor little face. She pokes at the silver thread of its eyes. She stares at the blue of its nose and tries to tear it. She whimpers when Ellana picks her up and leaves it behind.

"How can one so small make such a big mess?" Fenris asks.

He makes a silly face when Mahanon starts to cry. He makes silly noises. Somehow, he gets him laughing. He cleans the worst of him. He drops the soiled diaper in the bucket to be dealt with later. 

"That's better, isn't it?" he asks him.

Neria is not better about it. She cries. Mightily. Even after Ellana retrieves the toy nug and gives it to her. She is not appeased until she is dry and covered again. When Ellana picks her up, she settles against her shoulder. She buries her face in her shirt. She snuffles. And all at once, she has had enough of the nug.

Ellana rubs her back.

"What's the matter, sweet?" she asks.

When Mahanon starts jabbering, Neria perks up. She answers back, more nonsense. She laughs, finally. And Mahanon looks thrilled. He waves his hands and tries to jump in Fenris' arms. His tiny legs bend and shift and he can't get any traction.

They will not be going back to sleep any time soon, she realizes. But that is not a bad thing. There will be plenty of time to pick things up again later. 

Neria tries to throw the nug but it just sort of flops to the ground. She squeals when Ellana stoops to retrieve it.

"You are silly today, da'len," she says and she pauses when Fenris swoops in to kiss her cheek.

Neria grins. She laughs. 

 

The seneschal comes with Loranil for Fenris. They need those who aren't wounded to to patrol the farm lands. They need to be sure everyone is protected while they see to the harvest.

Fenris passes Mahanon to Niala. He kisses Ellana good bye. He goes.

She is not worried, not truly, but she doesn't feel good about it. Her fears are harder to ignore when he's gone. The voice that nags at her about Falon'Din and all the things that could happen is louder. It is more insistent. 

She is not given long to brood. Merrill comes. She is concerned about the eluvian, about how secure it is or isn't. Falon'Din has lost control of the network, but he could regain control. He has all the knowledge of the ancients. It wouldn't be a big thing to find a way around it. And it doesn't help matters when she feels Mythal's agreement. Merrill is right. He could. He likely will.

That makes her fears flare. She leaves Neria and Mahanon with Niala. She tries to stop her hands from shaking, but it is difficult. She keeps thinking about what could happen, about what would happen.

"So," Merrill says, grinning, "Fenris?"

It is quiet as they walk and Ellana doesn't quite know what she's asking.

"Fenris," she says. She can tell her confusion is showing. She hopes he and Loranil have an easy patrol. She hopes they encounter nothing and no one.

"You seem happy. I'm glad," Merrill says, "You could both use some happiness."

"I can say the same for you and Sera," she says, and Merrill blushes. She goes red right down to the roots of her hair. 

"Thank you," she says.

But then her face goes a little dark. Ellana sees worry and she regrets bringing it up. Sera is still out there somewhere, with Mahariel. Lost. She could be fine. She could be in danger. Or she could be dead. There is no way to know.

"I'm sorry," she says, "Are you alright?"

Merrill shrugs.

"I've been better," she says, "I've been worse too. She knows what she's doing. I'm sure she's fine. I hope." Ellana hears the doubt in her voice though. Merrill doesn't think she is fine. She thinks something has gone wrong. 

There is a flicker of light down the hall. It draws her attention away from Merrill. 

"What is that?" she asks. 

Merrill frowns.

"What's is what?" she asks. Because the light has stopped. It was just a flicker. Like the flash of a spell. Gone now. 

Ellana's stomach drops. It came from the room that keeps the eluvian. But it shouldn't flicker. No one goes in there, not now, there is no reason for there to be a light.

"Someone's with the eluvian," she says. The realization hits her and she wants to turn back. She wants to call the guards, even though they wouldn't be much help. He is still too powerful. He could kill them all, even without Mythal's power.

And Merrill stops. She makes a startled sound. Her eyes go wide. She tugs on Ellana's arm.

"Maybe we shouldn't," she says.

Falon'Din couldn't have gotten control of the network, she thinks. It can't be him. It must be someone else. Maybe one of the sentinels. Maybe Abelas. Maybe he has found Mahariel and found a way back. She hopes. But she doesn't believe it.

If it isn't Abelas, though, the two of them will have to chase the intruder away. If it's Falon'Din. If.

Her chest hurts and she is afraid.

Merrill tugs on her arm again. She tries to pull her back. 

"Maybe we shouldn't," she says.

But they have to. They can't risk an enemy running loose in the castle. There is another flash of light. Her stomach hurts. Something is wrong. She can feel it. She can---

 

The next time she wakes, her head is throbbing. It doesn't just hurt. There are colorful auras around everything and when she moves she thinks she's going to vomit. 

She is upside down and her arms are heavy.

She can't move.

But she is moving, somehow. She is slung over the back of something too big to be an elf.

She groans. She tries to sit up but then a hand presses the middle of her back. The thing carrying her stops and she is yanked upright, shifted around so she is sitting. The world spins. Her stomach lurches. She shuts her eyes on instinct, to blot out the whirling.

"What happened?" she asks. She feels herself slipping forward, her head resting against an armored chest. 

Her wrist clank against it. She hears the rattle of chains and she knows something is very, very wrong. 

She looks into his face and she can't breathe. Falon'Din is here. He is smiling at her.

"Andaran atish'an vhenan," he says, "I have missed you. I am glad you're finally awake. We have much to discuss."

She shrieks and tries to push him. She tries to scramble away. But he has an arm around her back. He is ready for this. 

Her wrists are chained and the chains are warded. She can't feel her magic. She can't cast. 

"Now, emma lath, none of that," he says.

This is not a dream. This is not the Fade. She is chained and riding with him on the back of an unfamiliar hart. His arms have come around her and she can't move. She is helpless, powerless.

And they are alone. 

Neria and Mahanon aren't here. She sees no soldiers. There is no one. Just the two of them. 

She doesn't remember how she got here. She doesn't know.

"What have you done?" she asks, "Where are my babies?" And Fenris? What has he done to them? Her stomach lurches again. She thinks she is going to throw up all over him.

His face turns sour. He stiffens.

"I don't know where your friends have hidden them, but rest assured, I will find them soon enough," he says, "Whoever has them will suffer more than anyone has ever suffered."

Her mouth feels dry, her tongue heavy, too thick. This can't be happening, she thinks. Somehow, it can't be real. She shouldn't be here. She was in the castle. She was with Merrill and then she was...she was...doing something.

"We have much to discuss, my dear wife," he says. He kisses her cheek. It makes her skin crawl.

She shouldn't have taunted him. She should not have.

"Where's Merrill?" she asks, "What have you done to Merrill?" Because she was with her. It's the last thing she remembers.

"Aren't you more curious about your precious Fenris?" he asks, "Or have you moved on to Merrill now? Really, vhenan, are you that insatiable?" The smile he gives her isn't nice. It is small and hard and cruel.

She feels sick. He can't be serious. She turns away. She shifts so she is facing forward. She can't look at his face. She can't bear to see him.

"I don't know where Merrill is," he says, "I don't know why you think I would." Then Merrill could be alive. She could be fine. Gods, but Ellana hopes she is.

He lapses into an uncomfortable silence. He keeps her in the circle of his arms, but he doesn't touch her any more than that, just enough to keep her upright on the hart, just enough to unnerve her. She wonders if he's decided to kill her. Maybe that's what this change is. Maybe he's too angry because she was with Fenris. Maybe he has decided it is foolish to continue to pursue her. She thinks she is in real danger now and she has no access to her magic.

Where ever Neria and Mahanon are, she hopes he never finds them.

When they finally stop for the night, he helps her down from the hart and he is uncharacteristically gentle. His touch is soft. His smile is warm again and she doubts she was right. He isn't going to kill her when he looks at her like this.

"Where are you taking me?" she asks. She can finally say it, she can ask, because enough time has passed. The worst of the shock has faded. She is not shaking nearly so bad.

He frowns.

"So eager my love?" he asks, "Why should I spoil the surprise?" Her breath hitches. 

"Please," she says, and it almost kills her to say it, to let her voice go soft, pleading. He is not immune to her voice when it's like this. She has that much power over him. 

He sighs. She tries not to flinch when he kisses her. 

"If I can't have your love, I will have your obedience," he says, when he pulls back. Something dark skitters behind his eyes, something wicked. He will not forget what she's done. He will punish her for it. That's what this is.

And it will be worse than it was. Worse than anything he's done. She can see it. She knows. 

"Where are you taking me?" she asks, because she doesn't know what he intends. She doesn't know what he means. Doesn't want to know. He is going to hurt her somehow. That is all she needs to know.

"I'm sorry it must come to this," he says, and he kisses her cheek again. He presses his lips to her skin and just holds them there. He makes a low sound in his throat.

Her blood runs cold.

"Just tell me," she says. When her voice breaks, he pulls back. He smiles. He softens. He is so very pleased she is afraid.

"I have restored one of my temples, vhenan," he says, and he brushes the hair back from her face, "The magic is old but intact. I will perform the rite and bind you to my service---as I would have done for my priests, my slaves." His fingers thread through her hair, his touch impossibly soft, tender.

She doesn't like the way he says bind her to his service or the way he says slaves. She doesn't like the way his gaze shifts. He can't mean this. He can't truly. 

But she knows, he does. 

"You will not lay with _him_ again," he says, "You will not break our marriage vows again."

There is nothing worse than this, she thinks. She can only stare at him in horror.


	34. AOF: He Will Not Be Moved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He will not listen to reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for non con/dub con.
> 
> If you don't care for this story, while I appreciate you reading, I am not interested in hearing about how shitty it is. Thank you.

She struggles to stay awake but he does something to her. She doesn't dream or maybe it's that she doesn't remember dreaming. When she wakes in the morning, her head is aching. Her vision is strange again. 

He gets his arms over her head and he cages her under him. He bites her neck---hard enough to bruise. She thinks he's going to force himself inside her. She can feel he wants to. The length of him is already so hard.

But he makes a disappointed sound. He stops and she is shaking so much.

"I don't want to be patient," he says. 

He sighs. He pulls her to her feet and the chains on her wrists feel heavier somehow. She feels heavier, as if every step she takes leads her closer to the end, to something she won't be able to recover from. She is afraid this time he will break her. She will shatter and there will be nothing left but the pieces he wants.And he will fuse them into something terrible.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she asks, "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

He looks a little mad when he smiles. He brushes the tears from her face.

"What can I say to make you understand?" he asks, his voice soft and so full of fondness she thinks she's losing her mind, "I love you. I will always love you. Even when there is nothing left of the world, when every one and every thing is gone, that is the one truth that will remain. Our love is forever, ma sa'lath, for always."

"Even when you hurt me," he says, "There is nothing you can do that will change that."

She is too stunned to scream. She is too horrified even for that. She feels like something has broken in her throat. She can't draw an even breath. She can't speak.

This is beyond madness, she thinks. He is so lost inside his own delusion she will never be able to reach him.

Just as Morrigan is bound to Mythal, so will she be bound to Falon'Din. He thinks it is the only way to hold on to her. He thinks it is what he must do, and in a sense, he is right. It is the only thing that could stop her from fighting him. If she has no will to fight, he if erases it, she will have no choice but to give him what he desires.

And how far does the compulsion go? Can he command her to love him? Will it work? She doesn't want to find out.

He kisses her the way Solas always did, the way she likes to be kissed. His fingers in her hair, his lips firm, insistent. He is starved for this, for her. She can not steel herself. She cries. 

She does.

 

As they ride she notices his skin. It feels colder than usual. It is as if magic is spilling out of him---Solas was like that once too, when he took too much magic. He had trouble maintaining his control. She thinks that is what is happening.

She can't use the Sight. She can't look for herself, but she feels it all the same. He starts to lean into her, his cheek to her head. He breathes too deep.

He is...smelling her hair.

She is horrified. She shifts. She elbows him. She pretends it's an accident.

He isn't fooled. His arms tighten---he drags her closer. He erases the small amount of space she had managed to work between them.

"Enough," he says.

She is thinking about Neria and Mahanon. She has never been apart from them. They would have noticed her absence by now. They won't understand why Mamae doesn't come for them when they cry.

If she didn't have the bindings, the warded chains, she could do something about it. She would. He would die because she would kill him. She knows she could. She's angry enough.

"Let me go," she says. 

But he doesn't. He won't. 

 

She is caught off guard when they arrive at their destination. He doesn't warn her. He lets it surprise her. She feels him hold his breath as he watches her, weighing her reaction.

The temple is beautiful. It is elegant white marble, each stone carefully cut and fitted. He has commissioned new statues, not just of him, but of her as well. They are silverite and veridium. They are expertly formed and beautiful. 

They are a lie. He is pretending she returns his love. She is his wife and not his victim. His lover and not his captive. His heart and not his slave.

And he does have slaves. He doesn't have many here, but he has enough she notices. They see to the hart. They rush to assist Falon'Din as he dismounts. And her. They try to help her down, but he chases them away. He will help her himself, he tells them. He wants to. 

He doesn't let go of her. Not once.

"We will begin the ceremony shortly," he says, "Once we're refreshed and rested." As if it's even possible.

She is flooded with dread. She doesn't know how to stop this. She doesn't know what to say. And she thinks if she pushes in front of his slaves, he will react poorly. He'll snap. He'll rush things. He is not stable. Mentally. Magically. Emotionally. It is all fighting inside him, leaking out. He could do anything.

She waits until they're alone in his quarters. His servants have prepared a bath. They've laid out a delicate white dress for her. She's going to look like some kind of virgin sacrifice in it. 

He disrobes and she realizes he has more ink. He has added to the pattern. It has worked its way to his arms. She would think it beautiful on anyone else, but on him, it is ugly. He is ugly.

He steps into the water and he sinks down, a look of bliss spreading across his face. He gestures for her to join him, but she is still chained. She can't remove her clothes even if she wanted to. She doesn't want the touch of his naked flesh against hers. She doesn't even want to see it.

He makes an impatient sound. He gestures for her to come closer. And she obeys. She doesn't want to but she has to appease him somehow. She has to convince him he doesn't need the ritual. 

He removes the chain but leaves the warded cuffs around her wrists. 

"There," he says, "Better?" 

No. It isn't, she thinks. But she complies. She strips. She steps into the water, and he pulls her onto his lap. He kisses her shoulder and leans back. He doesn't let her shift away. He just sits there, holding her.

But then, he touches her back. He tenses. He makes a startled sound.

"You removed them," he says. She hears the accusation in his tone.

The vallaslin he applied after their "wedding"---yes, she did that the first day he was gone. And she would do it again, in a heartbeat. They were horrible.

"Did you think I wouldn't?" she asks.

She feels him try to relax. He tries to chase the tension from his body, but she can tell, he is failing. He is offended.

"I suppose not," he says. He sounds hurt again. Frustrated. It makes her happy for a moment, but then she thinks it's a mistake. If he is angry she won't be able to sway him. She won't be able to convince him to forget this terrible idea.

"It's no matter," he says, "You should have new vallaslin for this new chapter of our life. Perhaps I will let you choose the color this time."

He trails a hand down her stomach.

"Perhaps I will ink you here," he says, moving back up again, curving around her breasts, "Perhaps here. Perhaps all over your body. It is the old way. I always thought it was best. I may try to apply them to your face again. I think I might have enough power now."

She goes cold. She doesn't want to think of herself tattooed like that. His lines on every part of her body. He is quiet. He kisses her neck.

"It seems excessive," she says, trying to keep her voice calm, "You haven't told me. What power have you stolen? Who did you kill?" She is afraid he'll tell her he's killed Sera and taken Andruil's magic.

"Do not concern yourself with such things," he says, "You are safe."

"I'm only curious," she says, "The eluvian was locked. It would take a great deal of power to open it. I am...impressed. How did you accomplish it?" Another lie. She is not impressed. She is furious. She feels foolish for not breaking it when she had the chance. She should have. But her own arrogance stayed her hand. She thought her people could use it. She had hoped.

He laughs but there is no mirth in it. 

"You are so full of questions today, emma lath," he says, "Do not try to stall. There is no rescue coming, vhenan."

His hand drifts lower again. He makes her shiver.

"I don't want this," she says, "Don't go through with the ritual."

"You've left me no choice," he says.

The heat of the water feels wonderful. It soothes her sore muscles. It chases away the worst of her headache. But it is not enough to make her forget where she is and who she's with. It is not enough to erase what's coming.

"Please," she says, "I know you well enough to know you don't want me like that."

"It doesn't matter now," he says.

"It matters," she says, and she sounds desperate. She feels desperate.

"I've given you ample opportunity to accept me, to return my love, and still, you resist," he says, "As long as your will is unbound, I think you always will. I know your tactics, vhenan, I know what you're trying to do. It won't work this time."

"If you do this," she says, "I will never ask you to make love to me. I won't be able to. And isn't that what you want?"

"You want my heart," she says, "I can't give it to you if you do this, if you take it. It will never be real."

He is quiet. He listens, but he isn't happy. He isn't convinced. He runs his fingers through her hair. He massages her skull, he works lazy circles into her skin. Just how she likes. Somehow, he knows.

"You will never give me your heart," he says, "I would wait for ten thousand years and still you would deny me. I know you far better than you realize."

And he is right. She will never give him her heart. Never in all of eternity.

She hates how good his hands feel in her hair, against her scalp. She tries to stay tense, but the journey has left her exhausted. His ministrations and the heat of the water is making her very sleepy. He kisses her ear, her jaw, her shoulder.

"It won't be so terrible," he says, "Nothing will change."

Everything will change. It will ruin everything.

"We will be happier. You'll see," he says.

"I think someday you might love me," he says, "I'll command you to try and you will. It will be alright. I promise you."

"It didn't have to be this way," he says, and his voice is barely a whisper.

His breath makes her shiver. His hands dip under the water. They settle on her thighs for a moment. She almost chokes on her panic. She shuts her eyes. She tries to breathe.

"What will it take to change your mind?" she asks. Her voice doesn't sound like her own. It is a stranger's. It is so very distant.

"It has been decided," he says, "There is nothing you can do."

"There is always something," she says.

"Not this time."

"Please," she says and she turns to look at him. She feels disgusting. She is begging, like a dog, but she can't let him---she has to stop him. She is powerless. She is weak. She has to give him what he wants somehow. She has to make him change his mind.

His arms come around her back.

"Ellana," he says.

"Please," she says. She kisses him. She shuts her eyes and pretends he's Fenris. She pretends this is what she wants.

He jolts a little, surprise washing over him, but he doesn't push her away. He makes a happy sound. He drags his fingers up, he cups the back of her head. She feels him stir, stiffen.

She opens her mouth for him. 

But after a moment, he stills. He pulls back. He looks at her and his eyes are sad.

"I will not change my mind, emma lath," he says. 

"There's no need to go through with the ceremony," she says, and she steadies her voice, she tries, "You already have my heart. I only ever wanted you to take it, to show me you---you could."

He laughs.

"You just told me otherwise. You said you hate me," he says, " You said you couldn't give me your heart if I took it. This is a poor manipulation tactic."

Her stomach drops. He is right. She said it. She just said it. She is bad at this. She is terrible. No wonder he doesn't believe her.

"Vhenan, I was only testing you," she says, she tries, "The man who can't keep me doesn't deserve me. But you have. Every time, you have. I am Dalish, vhenan. It is our way."

It is not the Dalish way at all. No one would want this. No one would be able to stomach this. But she smiles. She ignores the heat in her eyes, the roll of tears down her cheeks. She kisses him again. She pretends she isn't going to be sick.

He allows the kiss. 

But she is a poor actress.

"This is beneath you, " he says, "I know you hate me. I have resigned myself to it."

"No," she says, "It was never hate---"

"It was always hate. From the beginning, from the first time you saw me in this body, I knew," he says, "You would never love me."

He is right. It was always hate. It will always be hate. Until the end of time, itself, she will ache for his destruction. He is a monster. What else could she want?

"I know, vhenan," he says, "I know."

"You are afraid of the truth," she says, "And with good reason. But it is the truth. You are the father of my children, the man who gave me the greatest gift in all the world. I couldn't help but love you."

She touches his face. She thinks of Neria and Mahanon, safe from him, safe with Niala and Fenris, safe with Merrill. She smiles. He will never find them. Never.

His breath hitches. He wants to believe her. She can tell. He does. 

"I lied to you," she says, "When I said I was with another man. I wanted to make you jealous. I wanted you to come for me. And you did, ma sa'lath, you came for me."

"Will you come for me again?" she asks. She hides her revulsion behind a shudder---she pretends it's pleasure. She pretends he is Solas and she touches him. She grips him. She smooths her thumb over the head of it. She thinks of Solas. She thinks of Fenris. Anyone but him.

She can't do this. She can't go through with it. She can't. She can't. She can't.

She feels like she's screaming inside. She can barely hear herself.

"Ellana," he says, he shifts. His breath rushes out.

"Please, Falon'Din," she says, "Make love to me."

She can not stop the flow of tears. She can't stop herself from shaking. This is the last thing she wants. Every time he touches her, she feels like she's dying. But it would be worse, it _will be_ worse when he binds her to his will. She can do anything he wants if it means she will keep her will. She will do anything he wants if it will stop him.

He looks into her eyes. He sees the wetness on her face. He sees her smile. His control is stretched too thin. It snaps.

He takes her in the bath and then again on the floor. He brings her to climax twice and she fakes a third---he takes more care with her this time. He touches her as she likes. His movements are as she likes. Things she doesn't think he would know. He has never paid attention before.

She shuts her eyes. She pretends. She doesn't believe in gods, but she prays to anything that could hear her, save her. She can't blunt the feel of his hands on her body, of him pulsing inside her. She can't blot out the crush of his body on top of hers.

And when it's over, she thinks, she has never seen him so happy. His eyes are so bright, they are wet. She wants to scrub herself raw. She wants to die.

"Ar lath ma," he says, he whispers it against her skin.

He helps her up. He kisses her until they are both gasping for breath. He smiles. He smiles so big and so much. But she should have known not to hope. 

"Get dressed, vhenan," he says. He hands her the dress his servants laid out, the one she was supposed to wear for the ceremony.

Her heart seems to stutter.

"But---" It was all for nothing then. 

"I told you, Ellana, I will not change my mind," he says.

"You have manipulated me before," he says, "It won't happen again. You are too precious to me. I won't lose you."

The dress is so very light in her hands. It is gauzy and soft. It is silky and so very beautiful. But it seems so heavy too. Her hands don't want to hold her. Her fingers don't want to work.

No one is coming to save her. He is right.

There is no rescue.


	35. AOF: Vir Bor'assan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn't believe any of this is real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is probably only one more chapter for Age of Falon'Din. If there's anything you wanted to see/prompt, feel free to ask. I can't guarantee I'll be able to write it, but I will certainly try.

Cassandra would know what to do, she thinks. Dorian would know. She wishes they were here now. She wishes she could see them for just a moment.

"It will be fine," Falon'Din says, smiling, "Don't be afraid, vhenan."

The sound of his voice is repulsive. The touch of his hand on the small of her back is repulsive. He will hear nothing she has to say. He doesn't care. This will happen because he wants it to. He doesn't care that it's wrong.

And why would he? When has he showed even a shred of decency?

She can't hear Mythal anymore. There is only a heavy silence. There is only a terrible quiet in her mind. She feels sluggish, slow. She feels weak.

She can't let this happen. There has to be a way.

He guides her down the long hallway. It is alight with wisps. So many. And they are beautiful against the white, polished stone. They are terrible.

His slaves have gathered at the edges of a large, circular room. There are spirits as well. There are unfamiliar ghosts. And there is a raised platform at the center of it all. She sees a silver chalice and a small knife on a hideous altar made of dragon bones. Probably quite ancient.

And she imagines what it would be like to snatch up the knife and bury it in the soft of his throat, to watch the blood spurt and pour out of him. It is foolish, she knows, he would catch her before she moved. He would stop her. 

But it would make her happy again.

She feels his lips brush her ear. 

"You will kneel before my altar. You will wait until I command you to rise, and then, you will drink," he says. He touches her hair, her face, her cheek. He smooths his thumb over the grittiness left by her tears, the salt.

"I promise you this is no time to mourn," he says, "There is a small loss, it's true, but the rewards far outweigh it. Our connection will be unbreakable, vhenan. You will have the knowledge of my people, my priests. I know that is something you crave."

But it isn't. She doesn't care about the ancients. She doesn't care what their kingdoms were like or what marvels they accomplished. Not if this is the cost. She can't fight with him. She can't throw it back in his face because his people are watching. He will take offense. He will hurt her. He will hurt them.

She thinks she is going to cry again. She feels like she will, but nothing comes. Her face is only too hot, her throat twisted and aching. She would rather die than go through with this.

But she kneels when he tells her to kneel. She listens while he drones on about commitment and eternity. She wonders what she can say to make him snap and kill her. There must be a limit, something she can push.

He touches her shoulder.

"Rise, vhenan," he says.

He makes her hold the hideous silver chalice, already partially filled with water. He rolls up his sleeve. He draws the blade of a knife across his palm, careful not to drip blood on his pretty white robes. He holds his hand over the chalice and lets it fall into the water. 

He can't be serious, she thinks. 

But he is.

"Drink, vhenan," he says.

She stares at it, the red swirling in the clear liquid---it makes thin, wispy clouds. It spirals. It spreads out. This is not like the Vir Abelasan at all. This is some kind of blood magic. 

When she looks up at him, she can't disguise her horror.

He frowns, displeased by her hesitation.

"You don't have to do this," she says, "Please."

Please. As if she can reach him, as if somehow, he'll see what he's doing to her and relent. 

"We spoke of this. You will drink," he says, his voice hard, "You will not embarrass me again." Blood still drips down his palm, onto the polished white floor.

She looks up at him and she is numb. 

"No," she says, "I won't drink." Her voice sounds dead. She feels dead. He is going to force her. She will lose herself. This is the last thing she can do. This is the last moment she can make a choice that is her own. And she has already failed. She knows.

She drops the chalice. He curses. He steps away from the water. He looks at her and his expression is murderous. He is going to hit her. He raises his hand, his fingers curling into a fist.

She doesn't care. She feels nothing. She hopes when he starts he can't stop. She hopes he hurts her too badly. She hopes she dies. She braces for the blow, but it doesn't come.

"Arsewipe says what?!" a voice breaks the silence, and she is frozen because it can't be real. She can't have heard it. She knows that voice.

Falon'Din goes tense. He looks up. He scans the crowd for the source of insolence.

"What---" he starts to say, he shouts it.

An arrow sprouts from his shoulder. He hisses, stumbles back, and she stares at it. The red on his white robes, the black feathers, the long arrow shaft---it hadn't been there the moment before. It shouldn't be there now.

But it is beautiful. 

The slaves run. They scream. They try to hide. Chaos erupts. 

A second arrow strikes her. It glances off the cuff around her left wrist. It makes a sickening sound. She feels something, some of the fog seems to clear. She feels the faint tingle of magic, her magic, the anchor. She hears Mythal again.

_Fight, Inquisitor. Fight._

Falon'Din pulls her back as another arrow buries itself in the altar. He drags her out of the way. He pulls her down behind it and then his eyes are glowing. Whoever has come, he is going to kill them. He'll slaughter them. He'll break them into pieces so small no one will ever find them.

He yanks the arrow out of his shoulder and he curses. He screams. It is a beautiful sound. It is just as beautiful as the bloody arrow. 

He tosses it to the side. She sees the head of it glow. She sees the ripple of wards across it before it goes dark.

_Arsewipe says what?!_ Sera, she thinks. It has to be Sera. The wards on the cuff of her left wrist are dead. There is no light coming from them. She must have damaged it when she struck it. Somehow. It hasn't restored her all of her magic, but she can feel some of it again. Not all, no, she isn't that lucky. But it is like it was before the Veil fell. It is enough, she thinks, it must be.

"Are you injured?" he asks, he searches her for signs, for blood, but he finds none. She is fine. If the arrow had been any higher...

"Stay down," he says, "I will deal with them." His voice carries a cold rage. It is soft but it is threatening.

He starts to stand, but another arrow streaks past his ear, nicking him, making him bleed. He curses and throws a shield around them both. She sees the shimmer of magic for just an instant before it's gone. These are no ordinary arrows. 

Another arrow glances off his shield. And then another. 

She grabs his arm. She pulls him back down again.

He looks furious but then he softens. He looks at her and he is concerned. He is still bleeding. 

"Where are you hit?" he asks, because she must be. His blood is on her dress but he forgets. His eyes have gone wide and he thinks she's hurt. He knows she must be. And he is afraid. His breath catches.

"Vhenan," she says, her breath rushes out a hiss. She touches his chest, just above his heart. She hears Mythal again. She hears her screaming.

_Fight._

She pulls with the anchor. 

She pulls and he screams and he screams. 

She hears footsteps rushing toward her, but she doesn't look. She can't. She pours everything she has into the anchor, all of her magic, everything she can access. She pulls and she fights him. 

"No," he manages, "Please, vhenan, stop." He begs. He screams and he pleads. It is the most beautiful sound. His pain. His fear. How many times has she begged him not to hurt her? How many times has she pleaded with him to stop? But he never did. He only ever wanted more. He delighted in it. He fed off her pain.

"This is better that you deserve," she says.

She tries to hold on but she feels her energy weaken---she doesn't have enough while the other cuff is activated. She thinks he is buried too deep in this body. He must be. But she doesn't stop. She is shaking but she holds on. She hears the whisper of Mythal's voice and she twists him. She tears him.

He comes free and the dark cloud of him shatters. Falon'Din breaks. He dies. And the body that he stole collapses. It shudders. It isn't dead but it is damaged. Whatever is left of Solas is damaged. 

Falon'Din is gone.

She tries to breathe but she is still so afraid. She can't feel Mythal either, can't hear her. She is gone too. There is only Sylaise's magic left.

She pitches forward, her palms flattening to the ground, holding her up. She struggles to slow her breathing, to keep herself from passing out. But the edges of her vision have gone dark. It is difficult.

And Falon'Din is gone. He is dead.

He is dead. 

She is shaking too hard.

Hands haul her up and arms wrap around her. There is a voice shrieking in her ear, the words too quick to interpret. She buries her face in the neck---in Sera's neck, she knows it's Sera now. She holds on. 

Mahariel is here too. And Abelas--his sentinels, they have managed to find Mahariel and Sera after all. He sinks down beside Solas. He touches his back. He looks at him, his expression wary. But something shifts. His expression twists. He is going to cry, she realizes. 

Mahariel stands with swords drawn, ready to strike.

"Anyone want to explain what just happened?" he asks, but when he glances back at her, his gaze goes soft. She sees concern. She doesn't care.

"He isn't Falon'Din," Abelas says, "Not anymore. Put those away." And his voice isn't steady. She hears it break. She sees fear. 

Mahariel doesn't comply, but he doesn't advance. He doesn't move to strike. He watches. He waits.

"I mean it, " Abelas says, "Put those away. He's not a threat. He can't fight." He casts a healing spell to knit his flesh back together, but that is all he can do. The other sentinels come to assist him but they are reluctant. They don't trust that this is real. They would rather end him. They share Mahariel's desires.

"He's broken. He is helpless," Abelas says. He is horrified. 

When she looks at Solas with the Sight, she can see his jagged edges. She sees the threads of June's magic. She sees the shimmer of the new lyrium blue magic---magic she still hasn't pieced out who it belongs to. She sees his own green energy. She sees holes. She sees missing pieces. These are the the places Falon'Din looted to fix himself.

And she sees something more. She sees the flutter of...Mythal? She isn't sure, but she thinks that's what that flicker of light is. It tries to fill some of the empty spaces inside of him. It tries to restore some of what was lost. But it can't. There is too much that needs to be mended. 

He hunches forward, his hands pressed to his face. He cries. He cries as though his heart has broken. And maybe it has.

When he dares look at her, she can't bear it. He makes a wild sound. He wrenches away from Abelas. He looks like he's going to vomit. She sees so much pain in his eyes. So much regret. 

That is when Mahariel gives in. He sheathes his swords. He steps back. He moves away. He doesn't look at Solas again.

And Sera finally lets go. She checks every spot of blood on Ellana's body for injury. She checks her ribs. She prods at her wrists. But none of the blood belongs to Ellana. It is all his. 

"You're not supposed to be here, Inky," Sera says, "Why are you here?" And she sounds almost as wild as Solas. She sounds worried. Ellana doesn't know when she's ever been this serious.

And she can't answer. She laughs. She laughs until she cries because Falon'Din is gone. Finally, she is free.

Sera fiddles with the cuffs until she gets them open. The right one sparks every time she touches it, but eventually, it pops. She uses one of her spelled arrows to pry it apart. Ellana doesn't recognize the wards on the arrow head, but they are powerful. Strange. 

"We were just here to free the slaves," Sera says, "Been watching the place for weeks. Got lucky I suppose. Didn't expect him to ride in with you. Well, didn't expect Abelas either, but the tit found us. Good thing for that too I guess."

"What happened, lethallan?" Mahariel asks. His voice is soft, his eyes worried. She doesn't want him to look at her like that.

"I don't know," she says, because she doesn't. She still can't puzzle it out. One moment she was with Merrill and the next she was with him. She has no way of knowing if he's left anyone alive. She doesn't know what they'll find when they return to the castle. She is afraid to find out.

When her magic is fully restored, she removes the vallaslin from the slaves. Her hands shake but she doesn't stop until the last one is bare faced. She doesn't stop even though she is exhausted and aching.

"Do you need anything?" Mahariel asks her. He touches her hand. He squeezes it. He hugs her when she doesn't pull away. And he is gentle. He treats her like she's made of glass, like she's going to shatter if he's too rough. Maybe she will.

She shakes her head. It is still too hard to speak. She just wants to go home. She wants to forget everything.

When the temple is evacuated, when the last person is clear of it, she calls her fire. She burns it to the ground. _He is gone. He is dead. She is free._ She doesn't know what she's supposed to feel, but she likes the way the fires look. She likes the way it blackens his pretty white marble, the way his statues melt when she gets them hot enough. 

There is still nothing inside of her. She is numb and it is terrible.

 

When they ride, Abelas doesn't come with them. He takes Solas and he goes. She doesn't know where or why, she doesn't care to, but she hears Mahariel shouting at him. She hears them arguing.

"He doesn't deserve a second chance," he says.

"He should die," Sera says.

"He is as much a victim as anyone," Abelas says, "He is broken, perhaps beyond repair."

"He carries the last shard of Mythal in him again," he says, "I will not see her lost." He probably can't. The magic that binds him likely prevents him from letting her die. And she doesn't care. She doesn't want to think about him or anything. She doesn't want to see Solas' face or hear his voice.

She wants to go home. 

She needs to.

Mahariel is not pleased but he gives in. He brings the horses. And Sera pulls Ellana onto the back of hers. She is still humming with nervous energy, with adrenaline because she is the reason they one. Without Sera's arrows, she would be bound to Falon'Din's will. She would be trapped.

She doesn't want to think about Solas. She doesn't want to think about what Falon'Din did to him. There is too much weighing heavy on her mind. She doesn't have the strength for anything more. 

She wants to hold her children again. She wants to kiss them and tell them everything's going to be alright. Maybe, if she does, she'll start to believe it herself.

 

The castle is quiet as they ride up, but then it isn't. There is no one, but then it is surging with people. She has a moment to breathe before they are surrounded. 

Ellana catches a glimpse of Merrill, alive and well and sprinting toward them, before she is pulled down from the horse. Strong arms wrap around her. A face presses to the crook of her neck. She feels the heat of his breath. She was fine until now, until he touches her. She is numb but then she isn't. She is steady and then she isn't.

She feels the heat wash over her. She feels her throat constrict. She shuts her eyes and she holds on because it is all she can do.

She cries. 

She is here and she is safe again and they are together.

When he pulls back, he touches her face. He smooths the hair back from her eyes. Each breath he takes come in ragged, harsh.

"I thought the worst," he says, "We came back from patrol and you were gone."

She shakes her head. She doesn't speak. She can't. He hugs her again. He spins her around and he doesn't let go. She doesn't want him to.

" I couldn't find you," he says, "And Cole said..." He trails off. The look on his face is terrible. His eyes are so red, they are wet. 

He will be her undoing, she thinks. But she has to find Neria and Mahanon. She has to see for herself that they're ok.

She tries to pull away, but her hands won't move. Neither will her arms, her legs. Somehow, none of it was real until now, this moment. When she was with Sera and Mahariel, it was only just a dream. She could pretend.

"Falon'din is dead," she says at last, "We're safe."

His arms tighten. He makes a strange sound. He spins her again. He kisses her cheek. He smiles and it is beautiful.

'I need to see my babies," she says. But she can't stop crying. 

"We'll send for them," he says, and she is starting to panic. They aren't here? They can't be gone--- "Cole took Niala and fled with them. We thought Falon'Din would return. We had to be safe. I had to be here in case he...if he..."

His face falls.

"I couldn't protect you," he says, "I wasn't here when you needed me. I'm sorry."

He says it over and over again, "I'm sorry." As if he's to blame. As if he could have foreseen it all and stopped it. No, he is wrong. None of this is his fault.

And this is too much. She won't be alright until Neria and Mahanon are in her arms again. She won't be able to breathe until she knows.

"It wasn't your fault," she says. He was with Loranil. She can't remember what happened but she knows that much.

"I should have been here," he says. He insists and she just want shim to stop talking. She can't think about this now. She can't. 

She lets him pull her close again. She lets him hold her because she is shaking too hard. She thinks if he doesn't she will stumble. She will fall. The crowd is too thick. There are so many well wishers, so many people who were afraid for her. She can't bear them right now.

"Get me out of here, Fenris," she says, "Please."

So he does.

He does.


	36. AOF: The End of an Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They live happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the official end, but I have a few more bits and pieces I'm working on.

Fenris is quiet when they're finally alone. He kisses her forehead. He pulls her night robe and her night shirt from the closet. He drapes it over the back of the chair.

He kisses her cheek as he passes. He touches her hand. He lingers for a moment longer than he needs.

Then, he ducks out. He is gone for some time before he returns. She strips out of the horrible dress. She burns it in the fireplace. She thinks she should take a bath, but the thought of submerging herself in water makes her skin crawl. 

She can still feel _his_ hands. Even after all this time. Even now. 

She casts ice in the basin. She melts it. She dips a clean rag in the water and scrubs herself that way. She is just pulling her night clothes on over her head when the door opens. 

He smiles and she is not surprised to see he's carrying a steaming hot cup of what is probably tea. He sets it on the nightstand. He kisses her again. He touches her again.

"We're running low," he says, he is apologetic. 

She squeezes his hand. She smiles. 

"Thank you," she says. It is a miracle her voice is steady. She is surprised her hands have stopped shaking. 

But the tea tastes fine. He has gotten so good at this.

But he is such a silly man. He thinks he's going to sleep on the floor again, she can tell. She sighs when he starts to spread a blanket out. She grabs his hand. She tugs him back up.

"Don't be ridiculous," she says.

He is hesitant to follow though. The look on his face is strange. She doesn't know what it means.

"Fenris?" she asks. She would think the bed itself was the problem, but he is always like this. He is always so reluctant. Another voice nags that it must be her, that he doesn't like sleeping beside her, but she knows that's not true.

He lost an eye because of her and he is still here. It must be something else.

"It's nothing," he says. He lets her pull him into bed, finally. She drinks more of the tea and then sets it aside.

She rests her head on his chest. She shuts her eyes. She pretends everything is alright. She should tell him what happened with Falon'Din. She knows she should. She tries.

"He was going to..." she starts to speak, but she can't finish. There is something about it now. The more she thinks about what Falon'Din wanted to do, was going to do, and what he did, the worse she feels. She knows what would have happened after. She knows. 

He doesn't speak. He lets the silence stretch. He waits.

But she can't continue, not yet. She kisses his chest, his throat, his chin. She looks up at him.

"Would your read to me?" she asks, and she pauses for a moment. She calls him, "Vhenan." When she says it, it feels right. It sounds right. She likes the way it makes the corners of his mouth tug up. he knows what it means. He can hear it in her voice.

"Of course," he says, and he pauses too. His hands are shaking when he brushes his thumb over her lower lip.

"Amata," he says---she doesn't know what it means but she knows what the look in his eyes mean. She knows what that smile is. His breath is a whisper across her skin. And when he kisses her this time, she thinks she's going to break apart. 

"I missed you," she says. Her eyes are so hot, so wet.

"I love you," he says. He brushes the tears from her cheeks. 

He pulls her up. He kisses her again. Again. Again. His lips are soft. His mouth is so very hot, sweet. He tugs at her breath, he parts her lips. It is perfect. He is perfect.

"I love you too," she says, when they part, when she dares to breathe.

And she does love him. More than she ever thought she could. 

 

By morning, the castle is buzzing. Word has spread. 

The celebration lasts for days, but she can't relax until she sees Cole and Niala ride in through the gates. Truth be told, she is a mess until then. A part of her thinks it was all a dream and Falon'Din is still alive---he has them. She thinks she might never see them again.

But then, they are here. 

She kisses Neria and Mahanon. She hugs them until they are sick to death of her. They squirm. Neria reaches for Fenris, and when he relents and picks her up, she tries to eat his hand, the lyrium lines.

It will be alright, Ellana thinks. And she almost believes it.

Abelas' sentinels, the ones who stayed behind, leave after a few days. There is no explanation. They say their farewells and they retreat. Cole goes with them.

She thinks she knows why. She suspects. She doesn't want to think about it. 

Only a few hundred of her people are left, but over the course of the next few months, more start to filter in. Red Jennies mostly. Dalish and Skinner return. Orana and Lanaya and Morrigan, people she thought lost, people she believed to be dead, they return, alive and well. Not everyone though, but enough to give them hope.

There is nothing left to do but rebuild and to replant, to tend the fields and bury the dead.

And so they begin.


	37. He Makes Him Watch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas POV during Age of Falon'Din

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for non con

He can do nothing but watch. Falon'Din tears pieces of him, steals them away, feeds. The world fogs over. He loses time. He loses himself. There is only a swirling emotion. There is only the crush of shame.

He can't remember who he is. For the longest time, there is nothing.

But Falon'Din remains. He is the one constant. 

As he grows, he returns some of the pieces he took, not enough to really matter, but enough to make him aware of what has happened. He does not relinquish control. He doesn't loosen the ties that bind Solas. He laughs when he struggles against them.

He shows him what he has done in his absence. He makes him remember Ellana. He makes him remember the ache in his chest that is his broken heart.

Her back is marred with Falon'Din's vallaslin. Her face is drawn in despair. He forces himself on her, again and again. He tells her it is love. And when Solas watches him draw blood sigil's on her belly, he knows what he intends. Falon'Din tells him. He taunts him.

"She is my wife, harellan," he says, "She will carry my child inside her. You will never touch her again." He makes him watch, every time he hurts her, every time. The child grows---his child, not Falon'Din's. No matter what he thinks, that much is the truth. 

Solas is glad he doesn't have control of his body right now because he thinks he would die of this. Her child should be safe. It should be loved. It should not have been conceived in such violence.

Falon'Din plunges him into darkness. He blots out sound and sight. The only thing that exists is his voice. And when he dreams, Solas is allowed to follow like a shadow. He can do nothing in the Fade either. He can only linger. He can watch.

Sometimes he feels Mythal's presence, but she is trapped as he is. They can not speak. They can not fight.

And when Falon'Din forces himself on Ellana, he makes Solas feel it. He makes him watch. He makes him listen. No matter how he tries, he can not blot out her screams. He can't save her. He can't.

 

But Ellana runs. She escapes. She hides. Solas knows who has helps her. Cole. It could only ever be Cole. He feels relief, for the first time. He feels hope.

Where ever she goes, Solas prays she is safe, with people who will protect her. He hopes his child grows up with people who know what love truly is. He hopes it will never look upon Falon'Din's face. he hopes Falon'Din will never find them.

Falon'Din gives him form. He gives him a body in this void. He punishes him for her escape. He hurts him. He breaks him apart. Again and again. Until Solas can't remember what it is like to live without pain.

"You knew," he says, "You had to have helped her."

"Where would she have gone?" he demands.

But he is mad. Solas has been trapped here. She can't hear him. He can't reach her. Even in the Fade, he is useless. He can only cling to Falon'Din. He can only make the ground ripple a little when he focuses all his energy on it. He doesn't know where Ellana has gone, and he is glad.

"Some day, she will kill you," Solas says.

"She will love me," Falon'Din says, "She will never hurt me."

But he is wrong. Someday, she will. She does.

 

When he recaptures her in Weisshaupt, Solas despairs. Falon'Din tears pieces of him away again. He keeps him buried under darkness and wretched emotion. He loses time again.

He forgets.

He only remembers when Falon'Din allows it. He only remembers when Falon'Din wishes to taunt him. He has enslaved the People again. He has stamped them with his vallaslin. He kills anyone who doesn't obey. He tells Solas it is his fault. If he hadn't betrayed them all, so many years ago, none of this would be happening.

Abelas burns down the castle when Falon'Din ventures away---he is still hunting Ellana's man, Fenris. He is consumed by thoughts of him, by hatred. And that hatred is his undoing. He doesn't see the betrayal until it is too late. Abelas rescues Ellana. He frees the slaves. 

Solas dares to hope again because Abelas is a good man. He will protect them. Falon'Din will not find him.

"You have no one," Solas tells him when he restores his ability to speak, to think.

"I will have her," Falon'Din says. He insists.

But Solas laughs. He laughs until Falon'Din tears his false body, this terrible dream form. 

"You will never have her love," he says, "Some day, she will kill you." She will rip him apart.

"Then you will die too," Falon'Din says.

"I hope I do," he answers. He prays for it, every chance he has. He wants to die now. He has seen what Falon'Din has done to the People, to Ellana. He doesn't deserve to live. He should have left him in the Deep Roads. He should not have taken the shard of his power, his soul. He should have know this would happen.

 

Sometimes, he can feel the ripple of pain as Falon'Din hurts Mythal. Sometimes, he can hear her screams. He can't fight for her. He can't help her. But in those moments, his control slips. Solas can almost reach out. He can almost feel. But it only ever lasts a moment.

Falon'Din's laughter is dark. It is cruel.

 

Falon'Din finds Ellana again in Ostagar. She is close to her time. The baby is going to come. She can't run. 

Falon'Din makes him watch as he runs her man's eye. He destroys it, ready to repeat the act with the other, but then, she is hurting. Agony ripples on her face, she screams, and Solas thinks something is very wrong.

Cole comes.He kills the guards. Fenris disappears. Cole steals him away. Solas is glad he escapes because Ellana loves him. He can see it now. He knows. 

And she is having the baby. She is in pain. So much pain.

Falon'Din makes her ride. He doesn't remove the blood sigil's. He makes her suffer. And Solas is afraid. She will die if they don't stop. She will lose the baby if they don't allow the birth to progress.

He senses the first thread of real emotion when Ellana goes limp. Falon'Din clutches her like she is precious, like she is breaking. He is afraid. If he didn't know better, Solas would almost think he truly cares for her, or believes he does. But Falon'Din is incapable of it. He only loves himself. He would not have risked her life otherwise. He finally removes the sigil's. He forces stamina potions down her throat. He tries to save her.

Her daughter is born.

Her son is born shortly after.

Twins, Solas thinks, and his heart sinks. She will not be able to escape him now. He knows her. She will never leave her children behind.

Falon'Din is so pleased. He will never let her go.

He buries Solas in darkness again. He pulls the important pieces away. He reduces him to despair.

 

He restores him when he twists her body with blood magic. He erases the ravages of child birth. He molds her into the form he prefers. He costs the healer his life. 

It is a mistake he will soon regret, Solas thinks.

And he is right. 

When she realizes the full extent of his actions, she fights him. She tears Mythal out of her prison. She chases him out of the castle. She burns him. She hurts him.

Solas wishes she could have killed him. Maybe with Mythal's help, next time, she'll be able to. He doesn't know how much more of this he can bear. He prays for death. He wants to die.

When Falon'Din taunts Ellana in the Fade, he tries to reach her. He can do nothing at first, he can only alter the ground a little. Small things like the color of the grass. Only ever small things. 

He shows her flowers. He thinks she will know they're from him. She will know she isn't alone. It will give her hope. It will give her strength.

He gives her white tulips to tell her he is sorry. That this is his fault. It has always only ever been his fault. He wishes he could help her. He wishes he could free her from this nightmare.

 

"Do you want to know what I will do to her?" Falon'Din asks. 

He doesn't let Solas speak. He stitches his mouth shut. He makes him feel it, every draw of the needle, every puncture, every tug of the thread. He is with him too often as of late. He talks endlessly. He rages. He aches for her.

"She will never betray me again," he says, "When I am done, she will love me. She will worship me." 

He is wrong. He is delusional. She will never feel anything for him but hate. Solas doesn't understand why he wants more than that. She should mean nothing to him. He shouldn't want her. But he does. She is an obsession now. It will never be real love.

And Falon'Din shows him what he intends. He shows him the ancient ritual of binding. He shows him the magic he has twisted, perverted. She will have no choice but to obey. He shows him what he will do after as he breaks Solas' fingers, one at a time.

Solas tries to fight him. He screams. He struggles. But then, Falon'Din strips his body away. He leaves him formless and voiceless and broken in the void.

 

Her eyes, her beautiful eyes, are dead. She is broken. He has done this to her. Falon'Din makes him watch the ritual. He makes him listen. He makes him look into her face.

He makes her kneel before him, her head bowed. He gives her the chalice of water. He taints it with his blood. He is going to make her drink. Solas is screaming again. He is screaming and he can't fight. He can't help her.

Falon'Din strips his voice. He floods him with despair. He blinds him. He laughs.

Then, all at once, there is nothing but pain and light. He can feel again. Falon'Din is screaming, tearing at him, trying to hold on, but he can't. He is ripped away.

He tears pieces of Solas in the process. He leaves Solas quivering even as another familiar presence settles around him. Mythal is a balm to his soul. She tries to restore him. She tries to heal him.

But she can't. There are holes inside of him, important parts ripped away, scattered.

He feels nothing but pain for what has happened. He is Despair. He is Shame. He isn't Solas anymore. He knows that much.

Ellana looks at him like her heart is breaking again.

"Solas?" she asks.

He flinches away. He can't let her see him. He can't let her touch him. He has hurt her too much already. He can see the fractures under her skin. He can see the pulse of her pain. He does not deserve her pity.

He deserves her hatred.

Abelas comes. He takes him away.


	38. Abelas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abelas POV during Age of Falon'Din

Solas does not return.

Falon'Din does.

"I want a priest to perform the ceremony and apply the vallaslin," he says, "And you will come."

Abelas stares at him and he is horrified. That is how he knows this isn't Solas. He hated the vallaslin. He would never force them on someone, he would never agree to bring the practice back. And there is more---the Inquisitor would not agree to marry him. She is too full of fury. He has done something terrible. He is doing something terrible. And this time, Mythal can't save them.

Falon'Din's expression goes dark. There is a threat there. Abelas can feel it building. He has to be careful.

"As you wish," he says at last.

It is strange. He doesn't realize he's Falon'Din, at first. He answers to Solas. He muddles through his memories. He retains some of his mannerisms. But then, it's gone and he remembers who he is. It only takes a matter of hours.

"The Dread Wolf's memories of you are fond," he says when he knows, "I would like to continue your friendship."

There is no room for argument.

"As you wish," Abelas says again, and he stomach feels like it is sinking.

Every loss they took, every battle fought alongside the Dread Wolf, was for nothing, because Falon'Din is here. And Solas is gone.

 

Once he understands what he is, Abelas thinks Falon'Din will call of the farce of a wedding. Ellana Lavellan was Solas' vhenan, not his. Never his. He has no reason to want her.

But something in him is twisted. He wasn't whole before and he has stolen pieces of Solas to heal himself. He believes he loves her. He believes she will reciprocate.

Abelas was never very fond of Ellana, but he doesn't wish this fate for her. She does not deserve this pain.

He will hurt her. And when he tires of her, he will discard her like a broken toy. Falon'Din can not love. He is a monster.

It is just a matter of time

He makes her promise to love and obey him in elvhen and she doesn't understand. He makes her kiss him. He puts his vallaslin across her back. And the entire time, she looks like she's trying not to vomit. Abelas understands. It takes everything in him to keep his face neutral. He can not afford to react. He can not risk offending him. 

Solas would be furious. He would be horrified. He would not allow this.

And Ellana is not the only one forced to wear his vallaslin. 

He marks the soldiers first and then the civilians. The kitchen staff and the carpenters, the architects and the masons, the scholars. He marks the sentinels. Even now, even after Abelas agrees to help him, he marks them. They are too afraid to resist.

They all know what magic dwells under Solas' skin. They can not fight Mythal. Her power is too great.

And he thinks about her too and what she would want. He thinks about how horrified she was when they discovered Falon'Din's insanity. He remembers her face when they first discovered the mass graves. The bloody waters. The empty villages of his lands. He had never before or since been in a place so completely devoid of sound.

He tries to tell himself it will be ok this time. He tries to convince himself the parts of Solas he took are strong enough to steer Falon'Din down a better path. 

But Falon'Din pulls him aside one day and he knows there is no hope.

"We're going to search for my brother," he says.

"Ellana is carrying my heir," he says.

"We are going to restore the natural order to this world," he says. No.

Abelas' blood runs cold because Dirthamen is just as spoiled, just as cruel. And he is worse. He plays with people. He toys with them to sate his curiosity. He is more interested in breaking an enemy than he is killing them. 

And when he and Falon'Din are together, when they are allied, when they share a common goal, they are unstoppable. Abelas has never wished Mahariel good luck before, but he does now. He hopes, where ever he is, he has found a way to fight.

Ellana's spirit horse fights when it is taken to the stable. It snaps at anyone who goes near it. It tears the stall apart. 

Abelas knows how it feels.

 

But they do not find Dirthamen. They find an empty prison. Falon'Din rages for days. He executes all of the prisoners. He punishes the People. 

They set out again, and this time, they search for Mahariel. Falon'Din is convinced he is to blame.

And it is a mistake. They don't find Mahariel. The best they can do is a few of the damnable Red Jennies. They empty Hunter Fell. He takes more slaves. He kills any Grey Wardens he finds. He leaves their bodies where they fall, to rot in the open air.

He returns to his castle, the citizens of Hunter Fell in tow. There is bad news. Abelas knows. He can see it on the faces of the soldiers, the sentinels, the servants. They are too pale. They are terrified.

Ellana is gone. She has taken her spirit horse and fled.

Abelas wishes he had died in Mythal's temple the day he first met the Inquisitor because he can not bear what he sees. Falon'Din slaughters the staff. He kills the sentinels who were assigned to guard her. He spares no one. 

And worse. He orders Abelas to assist him. He makes him kill his brothers and sisters in arms. He threats the rest of his People if he refuses. He will not listen to reason.

So Abelas does what he must. 

He kills for him. He kills and each head he takes he wishes was his own. None of this is how it should be.

 

Falon'Din is distracted. He thinks of nothing but Ellana and the damned nursery. He doesn't notice the little things.

Abelas sends the Red Jennies away. He smuggles them out and they look at him, suspicious. He can't give them much in the way of supplies but he hopes what he does give is enough to ease their journey.

"Find Mahariel," he says, "Tell him everything."

He doesn't know if they make it, but Falon'Din doesn't notice their absence until much later. He thinks he had them killed. Abelas doesn't correct him.

There is a Tevinter woman among the new slaves. She is pretty and soft spoken. She is quick like a mouse. Falon'Din takes a liking to her during Ellana's absence. He hurts her. He enjoys it.

Abelas hates him. He doesn't know how long he can endure this and he can't risk freeing her because Falon'Din will notice. He will know he didn't send her off for execution. 

Abelas sends one of his sentinels away instead---Aravas, one of the armorers. She knows where the supply caches are. She knows which ones are unguarded and can be easily raided. He sends a thief named Tabris to help. He sends a mage named Surana. He sends anyone he thinks won't be missed. It is the least he can do. 

Falon'Din leaves him behind when he gets a lead, when he thinks he will find her.

"The People are incompetent," he says, "They can't be left alone. Watch them. Make sure they follow my instructions."

"As you wish," Abelas says.

He takes Adahlen with him. And she is so very pleased. It unnerves him to see how quick she is too seek Falon'Din's approval. She has eyes. She can see what is happening. But she doesn't care.

Aravas sends word---she has set up the first of their safe houses. She has found the rest of the Red Jennies. Abelas sends more sentinels away and he sends the shem elves. It is a miracle they trust him at all, but they do. They have seen too much of Falon'Din to question.

It is just a matter of time anyway. Falon'Din will notice soon enough and he will put an end to it. Abelas will die. He knows and he will not regret it. He will be glad when this is all over.

And Falon'Din returns empty handed. 

He rages about the White Wolf. He wants to know everything he can. He needs to. The Tevinter woman is quieter than usual. She knows him---this Fenris. She knows him and she is afraid for him. Falon'Din doesn't notice. He is too busy planning what he will do to the poor man.

Falon'Din doesn't leave him behind the next time he leaves. 

"I want you by my side," he says. He insists.

He thinks he will kill the White Wolf. One of Mahariel's strongest allies. Abelas has a suspicion as to why, and he hopes where ever he is and where ever Ellana is, it is too far away. He hopes he never sees her again. He hopes she is safe.

But they ride to Weisshaupt. She is there.


	39. He Has Thoughts: AOF

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris' pov during early AOF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part three of The Meeting is slow going but it's probably going to be the next update. Maybe.

Fenris thinks of her when Fen'Harel empties Hunter Fell, when word comes. The people he spares, he enslaves. He marks them. No one wants to believe the truth, but he is not surprised. The man who destroyed the world was always going to become this thing. 

Lavellan should not have gone back to him. She shouldn't have. No matter what the cost, it was not worth this.

Sera wants to retaliate and so does Mahariel. But they can do nothing yet, Fenris know, they can only run. They can only follow Mahariel's mad plan and hope to find a way.

It is a mistake. They venture into the Deep Roads. They find the old God Razikale and she possess Merrill. No one listens to Fenris when he protests. No one but Sera.

It hurts more than it should. He doesn't want to see Merrill lose herself. She is the last connection to Hawke. She is his last real friend from the old life. She may already be lost and he doesn't think he can bear it. He thinks of Varric. Of Aveline. What would they say? What would they do?

Sometimes, he thinks he can hear their voices. He thinks he knows. _Damn it, Daisy, I can't step away for two minutes. Broody, you were supposed to be watching._ He hears the condemnation. Unspoken but for in his mind.

He sees Hawke's face, those eyes, that smile. He sees the shift. He sees their disappointment. They are gone, but he can't let them down. He will if he looks the other way.

This is Merrill.

Merrill. 

But he doesn't know what to do, what he can do. He doesn't know. 

 

When he sees Lavellan again, he is surprised. He didn't think he would. But she rides into camp on the back of an undead horse with a strange boy and she looks like death. 

He stares for far too long, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. And Zevran is a damned nuisance. He notices. He gives him one of his damned incomprehensible smiles. He nudges him. He makes foolish sounds.

The horse disappears when she dismounts. The boy disappears. She is left alone, looking bewildered as she hugs Sera.

There is a chance this could be a trap. She could be working for him. Anyone can look at her and tell she is different. She is hollow eyed. She is gaunt. She has lost too much weight since they last saw each other. He has seen such a face before, many times. He has seen it in the mirror.

But he doesn't think this is a trap. He thinks she has escaped. He thinks he'll be coming for her.

"What happened?" Sera asks.

She doesn't answer for a long time. She keeps her eyes downcast. It looks like...shame.

"He isn't Solas anymore," she says at last. 

"No shite, we heard!" Sera says, "He emptied Hunter Fell. He took everyone. Got most of our people. The Wardens are dead."

"The slaves," she says, and she sounds weary. She sounds broken. It doesn't suit her.

Fenris can't help but feel the sting. She left to save him. Whatever she saw while she was with Fen'Harel, whatever happened, he can't help but blame himself. Hawke would have found another way. Hawke would have saved them all.

And Merrill is listening too intently, a strange smile on her face, the look that isn't quite hers.

"Who is he then?" she asks, "If he isn't the Dread Wolf?" She stares at Lavellan as if she knows something the rest of them don't. She makes her bristle. She makes her angry.

And when she is angry, he sees the shadow of who Lavellan is supposed to be.

"I don't know," she snaps, "Someone else."

Merrill doesn't believe her. That much is clear.

"I think you do know," she says, still smiling, still horrible, "And you are afraid." 

"I don't care what you think," Lavellan says, "And who the fuck are you anyway? You're not Merrill." 

It makes his heart race. She has said what he has been saying all along and she has done it without hesitation. One look and that is all it took for her to see. Mahariel has been pretending for weeks now, ignoring him. Zevran too. Velanna, slightly less so, but still. Merrill's new power has given them an edge they sorely need. Now that Fen'Harel is taking slaves, now that he has lifted his mask and shown himself for what he truly is, they can't risk losing the thing inside Merrill. But they can't let it stay. It has twisted her, changed her.

And Varric's voice has been in his head, needling him, endlessly. There was nothing he could do, but now, Lavellan is here. She has seen the heart of the matter. She is on his side even if she hasn't realized it. Maybe there is hope. 

He knows what Hawke would say, would do. 

Mahariel is uncomfortable. His smile is stiff, forced, and he is fidgeting.

"We found something in the Deep Roads," Mahariel tells her. And then he tells her the rest of it. He tells her about Razikale and the Grey Warden prison. He tells her about the failed hunt for Lusacan. The ambush. He tells her what Merrill accepted into herself and Lavellan laughs like she has gone mad. 

He knows that sound too. Hysteria. Mania. Wild, broken sounds strangling in her throat. He thinks he knows what Fen'Harel did to her. He thinks he knows why she looks like she's going to cry. It is all he can do just to stay calm, to breathe. If she had just let him die, none of this would have happened.

Why did she have to save him? 

He doesn't want to think about Hawke. He doesn't want to think about Lavellan. 

But he pulls her aside later, when she calms. He wants her to know what her sacrifice means. Things will be different. She is safe here. What she did for him will never be forgotten or trivialized. As much as he wishes she had let him die, he is grateful for the gift she gave him.

Even though he wishes he could go back in time and stop her. 

"Thank you," he says, "You sacrificed yourself to save me. I know I haven't always been---I haven't made it easy for you, but what you did...I will never forget. I am grateful."

He almost regrets it when she looks at him like this. He tries to smile. He tries to pretend it is all ok. But her expression is so dark and her eyes so distant. He would do anything to erase that look from her face. Varric would have known what to say. He would have known how to fix this.

He wishes she would smile. Just for a moment. Just once.

"You're welcome," she says, but she sounds dead. 

She can't seem to get away from him fast enough.

 

He almost changes his mind about her. He starts to think she's too great a danger when she lets it slip what she's done. Or rather, the demon inside Merrill lets it slip. She has taken magic she shouldn't have. Sylaise's. He tries to tell himself that's the change he sees. He tries to convince himself.

He is angry.

Merrill sits with her every night. She teaches her spells. Too many. He watches. He waits for her to twist like Merrill, to corrupt. It is just a matter of time. He knows. 

He doesn't want to see her sink further away. He can't watch it. He thinks it would be more than he could stand. 

As much as he hates to admit it, the power she has may be enough to save Merrill. 

Why do mages always do this to themselves? Why do they always have to thirst for more? It never ends. It is never enough.

Lavellan barely looks at him. She barely acknowledges him. And he tires of waiting. He pulls her aside again. Velanna follows.

"Help her," he says, "That is not Merrill." She said it herself. She knows. 

"How?" she asks. He hears despair and it makes him angrier. She is their only chance. She must know something. All that power she took, it has to have a purpose. There has to be a way.

"I don't care," he snaps, "Whatever you have to. Something. Anything." Just save her, he thinks. Please. But it isn't fair to put it all on her. He knows, but he can't stop himself. He is desperate. He is so afraid.

He thinks of Hawke because Hawke would have found a way. They always did. And they did it without destroying themselves in the process. They were kind. They were good. They saw the truth when others chose to lie to themselves. They never faltered.

He has made such a mess of things without them.

"Fix her," he continues. He doesn't like the way he sounds. He doesn't want to beg.

She looks at him. She looks at Velanna. He can't bear to see her like this. She was so strong before. She was so different. Now, she is hopeless. His fault. This is his fault.

If she hadn't gone with Fen'Harel, he wonders, would she have stopped Merrill and Mahariel from chasing after Razikale?

"We have to try," Velanna says.

"If you don't do something, she is lost," he says.

She looks as if he's just struck her. She recoils. But she relents. She droops. She agrees. Why does he feel like a monster for asking this of her? Why does he wish he could stop her, tell her he was wrong, they'd find another way? Why won't Varric shut up in his head? And Aveline? Why Aveline?

_She will break if she has to carry it all. Don't be unkind, Fenris. Help her._

But what can he do? He is not a mage. He doesn't want to be. He can't pull the demon out of Merrill. He can't banish it. 

She uses the anchor. She breaks the thing inside of Merrill. She rips some of it out and it latches on to Mahariel's sword. She says she can't get the rest of it. She says she tried. She says she's not strong enough. 

"You can try again," Sera says, "til you get it right. You get that demon out of her and you get it all." And he is surprised when she touches Merrill's shoulder. Sera wraps her arms around her like she isn't dangerous. Like she isn't afraid.

Lavellan retreats again. She looks like she's going to be sick. 

 

He is pulled from sleep by screams. He is on his feet, searching for the intruder, but he sees no one. None of them do.

Lavellan thrashes. She struggles. She begs and she is asleep.

Now, Fenris is the one who feels sick. He has pushed her too much and too hard. He should have been patient. He should have---

"It's just a dream," he says, he tries to make her hear him.

He touches her arms. He shakes her and she jolts, screaming again. It takes a moment for her to understand, to stop and catch her breath. She pulls away. She looks away, her cheeks suddenly red. 

"It was nothing," she says. He doubts she even hears the lie she tells. Something about spiders. Something foolish. 

Sera shoots him a Look. This is Fen'Harel's doing. They can see it on her face.

The days go by and it gets worse. There are dark circles around her eyes. She stumbles often when she walks. She stares too much at Merrill. And she is not eating or sleeping nearly enough.

He thinks she is going to lose herself. He thinks they won't be able to fight her when she does.

He dreams of Hawke. Every night. He watches them die, and there is nothing he can do to stop it.The veil falls. Hawke dies. He holds their body and closes their eyes and he can't move because he is lost without them. Over and over again. Always. 

And watching Lavellan fall apart, on top of everything else, he doesn't know how much more he can take. 

"Something is wrong and you have to tell us," he says, when she almost trips over her own feet, "You have too much power. Anything could---"

Zevran makes a strange sound---high pitched, obnoxious. He gets up, he sits between them and Fenris is considering shoving him into the bushes.

"I think that's enough," Zevran says and he gives him one of his damned mysterious looks. Fenris doesn't know what it's supposed to mean. Doesn't care to know. And he doesn't care for how grateful Lavellan looks at the intervention. 

They need to discuss this. They will discuss this. 

"No, it's the truth," Fenris says, "If she loses herself, she will be a danger. We will---"

"You will stop talking now," Zevran says, cutting him off, "Trust me, my friend, you are doing yourself no favors." Whatever that means. Fenris is seething. He is tired of not being heard until it is too late. He sits by himself. He mutters and thinks they have all lost their damn minds.

Zevran makes her tea. He sits with her until she loses some of that lost look. Fenris feels bad again. He doesn't want to. He hasn't done anything to earn it.

They can not afford to dance around the issue.

But he does not know how to approach it any other way. He doesn't know how to make them stop and see reason.

Before he puzzles it out, Morrigan finds them. She looks at Lavellan a long time, her expression unreadable, and then she offers her help. Together, they free Merrill. Lavellan loses some of her desperation, some of her terror.

He doesn't know why he cares, but he does. He tries to tell himself it's just for practical purposes. If she continues as she was, she is a danger. If she is broken, she will bring the rest of them down when Fen'Harel strikes. But it rings hollow. It feels like a lie.

 

Morrigan only stays with them a short while. They are ambushed by starving children. She and Merrill fly them to a safe house, to people who will take care of them. They will meet up when they can.

He tries not to look at Lavellan, but as they walk his gaze keeps slipping. He is thinking of Hawke again. He can't force his thoughts back to the present. No matter how he tries. He looks at Lavellan and he sees Hawke's face. Fasta vass. It never ends.

"You look terrible," he says.

He regrets it, but he doesn't take it back. It is too late.

She clenches her hands at her side. She goes tense. She looks like she wants to hit him.

Maybe she should.

"You're not eating enough," he tries again, he tries to explain.

She walks away, She quickens her pace and tries to leave him behind, but he is right. She hasn't been eating enough and it has slowed her down. It has weakened her. If she keeps it up, at this pace, she'll hurt herself.

He keeps up. He matches her pace for pace. He ignores the looks Zevran is shooting him.

"I'm not hungry," she says, her tone sharp, brittle, "Go away."

Another lie, he thinks. He can hear her stomach rumbling. He is not stupid. It makes him angry again. He is always so angry with her.

"I don't understand why you have to be so stubborn," he says.

"I don't understand why you have to be so nosy," she snaps.

And then Zevran intervenes. Fenris is so very tired of him. That damned expression on his face, the way he always manages to cut him off, block what needs to be said.

Zevran shoos him away like he is some kind of bug. Or a very stupid child. He gives her bread from his own rations and she eats that. Of course, when Zevran offers. Of course. Fenris can't pretend it doesn't bother him. It does.

And it happens too often. He can't open his mouth with out her tensing up, moving away.

Zevran pulls him aside. He clucks at him.

"You can not bark orders at her," he says, "You must be patient. Do not push quite so much."

He doesn't hide his scowl. Varric would have said the same thing. He would have been insufferable too. He always was.

"I don't need your advice," he says.

"You need it, my friend, oh you do need it," he says.

"If she doesn't take better care of herself," Fenris begins.

"She is doing the best she can," Zevran says, cutting him off again, "I am serious. Do not push her. Let her be. She has been through an ordeal. She needs time."

He hates that Zevran is right. The reminder of her time with Fen'Harel is worse than being doused with a bucket of cold water. He slumps. He nods. He thinks of Aveline and Varric. They would have said the same. He thinks of Hawke and he knows, Hawke would have helped her. Hawke would have fixed this.

He can try to be patient. He can do that much.

But he is worried.

 

Mahariel has a grand old plan. A massively stupid plan. He announces it when Morrigan and Merrill find them again. 

They have to split up. If they are going to fight the Dread Wolf, if they hope to beat him, they can't waste time. Mahariel will take a team to Tevinter for Elgar'nan's orb and Velanna will brave the Anderfels for Andruil's. It is the only way.

Stupid.

Foolish.

Completely idiotic.

It is entirely the kind of plan Mahariel would think clever. He is wrong. They shouldn't split up. They shouldn't bloat themselves on magic. They shouldn't gallop down the same path Fen'Harel took. It is a plan Hawke would have approved of, but Hawke would have known how to pull it off. 

He is surprised when Zevran says he won't be joining Mahariel. 

"I do not want to go to Tevinter," he says when Mahariel presses. Well, he's not alone. Sera refuses. Merrill refuses because she wants to stay with Sera. And Lavellan thinks she should go with Mahariel. It is maddening. 

Lavellan alone with Mahariel and Morrigan. Neither one is trustworthy. Neither one will hesitate to sacrifice her if it comes to it. They will not have her best interests to heart. And she doesn't even realize it. She would follow them gladly. She would sacrifice herself gladly.

It is foolish.

Stupid.

Completely idiotic.

He doesn't want to go to Tevinter. The thought makes his blood run cold. It makes his stomach lurch and he would rather gouge his eyes out than return. But he can not leave her. He can't abandon her.

This is his fault. He hates the voice in his head that tells him to stop, that it's a lie---the voice that sounds like Hawke's. Always Hawke. No matter what that voice tells him, he knows he is to blame. He knows.

Besides, he thinks, Hawke isn't here. They don't get a vote. That pain is sharper. Just remembering, just thinking about it is terrible. Hawke should be here. Not Fenris. 

Lavellan looks at him like he is mad when he tells them he's going with them to Tevinter. He can't hide his disgust. He tries. She doesn't understand. She is shocked. Confused.

"Someone has to be the voice of reason," he mutters. He doesn't know why he thinks he has to explain.

She stares at him. She blinks. And he is uncomfortable. There is something about her eyes. This would be easier if they weren't so beautiful.

"Don't look at me like that," he says.

It breaks her stare. It makes her scowl. It does. 

He regrets it. He wishes she would smile. He wishes he knew what to do, but everything he tries makes it worse. She must hate him. Maybe she should.

 

She doesn't toss and turn tonight. She doesn't talk in her sleep. She doesn't scream.

He should have known it was too good to be true.

He wakes to the sound of hoof beats. He has enough time to wake, to shout to the others, but Mahariel is already getting to his feet. Morrigan is transforming, and he is hauling himself up.

Fenris doesn't think. He can't. He sees the demon himself riding towards them and he knows what will happen if he catches them. He pulls Lavellan to her feet because she is moving too slow again. She is stumbling. 

He takes her hand and he runs.

Morrigan takes off. There is no time. Sera shoves Merrill onto her back and then she is gone. Velanna casts one of her terrible storm spells. Sera and Zevran disappear. 

The soldiers are coming and there is no way out. He holds onto Lavellan hands. He stops only when one of the enemy horses gets away from its rider, when it veers towards him. He swings himself up and then turns. He leans over, catches her arm and hauls her up. It's like she weighs nothing at all.

Her arms slip around his waist. She holds on. He feels her cheek brush against his back and then one of her arms releases him.

He feels her casting something. He hears the shriek of some of the soldiers. Whatever she has done, she has bought them more time. The horse is terrified. Velanna's storm swirls around them, too thick, so cold.

He hears Fen'Harel shouting, screaming for her, but he doesn't look. He doesn't dare.

 

He doesn't know how long they ride, but it seems like forever. He stops only when he has to, for the horse, only then. She holds him too tight. It takes a moment for her to loosen her grip. And he dismounts. He helps her down.

Her hands shake. She flinches when he looks at her. 

She does. 

As if he'd hurt her.

He tries to swallow, but his throat is dry. His tongue feels too thick. Heavy.

He fumbles with the saddlebag, relieved to find rations. Not many, not nearly enough, but there is something. 

"Eat," he says. He gives her a bit of the jerky and a dried, hard cracker. She takes the food but stares at the jerky like it's covered in writhing maggots. She chokes down the cracker but that is all. She puts the jerky away. 

She can't be serious, he thinks. He makes an exasperated sound.

"That's not nearly enough," he says.

"I'm not hungry," she says. And that is a lie. She is hungry. He can tell. 

Why won't she eat? Is it really so terrible?

He tries to breathe. He tries to calm himself, but it is difficult. She shouldn't do this to herself. He doesn't understand.

But this is not her fault. If she hadn't gone back to Fen'Harel---Falon'Din, he corrects himself. It is Falon'Din now. If she hadn't gone to him, she wouldn't be hurt---no. She wouldn't be ill.

He can't deny it any longer. She is ill. That is what Zevran meant when he told him not to push her, that she's doing the best she can. She is ill and he has done something to her to make her that way. 

She doesn't eat because she can't.

They can't risk building a fire. Not while Falon'Din's soldiers are still so close. When the air gets too cool, when he catches her shivering, he pulls a worn blanket from the supply bag. He tries to drape it over her shoulders. 

She explodes. He doesn't know why. He doesn't understand. He is only trying to help. Why won't she let him?

"Don't," she snaps, "I'm fine."

She isn't fine. She is lying and doing a poor job of it. She is hungry and cold. She is exhausted. She won't let him do anything for her, but Zevran---she would have let Zevran help her. 

It stings.

He throws up his hands. She hates him. She blames him, rightfully so, but still. He wants to scream at her. He wants to shake her. Until she starts to make sense again. Until he stops caring that she doesn't. 

He tries to sleep. He doesn't do a very good job of it.

 

He wakes to the sound of her crying again. She is asleep and still shivering. She quiets when he drapes the blanket over her. She stops shivering. She seems a little less...tormented.

But when she wakes, she throws it at him. She snaps at him. She yells. She doesn't mask her fury.

"When I say I don't want it, I don't want it," she says.

There is more to it than just a blanket. His mind goes to something else and it takes everything in him not broach the subject. She wouldn't appreciate it. He knows he wouldn't.

"You were shivering," he says.

"I don't care," she snaps.

He shakes it out. He rolls it up. He tries to stay calm. He knows though, he fails.

"Fine," he says, "Next time I won't bother." he can not keep the bite from his tone. She is maddening. Everything is a battle. 

"Good," she says, but her face twists. She looks at him and her eyes start to flood. Her cheeks flush and she can't seem to catch her breath.

She is going to cry, he thinks. She is staring at him and it is like the end of the world.

"What is it now?" he asks. He tries again to be calm, but how can he?

Something is wrong and she won't tell him.

She turns away. She gets up, brushes herself off. She pretends she doesn't care. He huffs.

"You should try to find the others," she says, "there has to be a safe house or a meeting place---" As if he hasn't already thought of it. As if he's foolish enough to wander aimlessly alone. Infuriating. And she is wrong. He has considered it. He has run through all the possibilities. There are not many places Velanna, Sera, and Zevran could have gone.

"We have to get as far away from here as possible," he says, "They will likely still try to reach the Anderfels. We might be able to intercept them along the border. Maybe Nordbotten---" 

"Good," she says, "That's good." She sounds strange. She looks strange.

She pokes around in the saddlebag and he almost dares to hope she's going to eat something more than a cracker. He isn't going to chastise her for taking more than her share, but then she takes half of everything. She takes half and he realizes why.

He grabs her wrists. He pries the rations out of her hands and shoves them back into the bags.

He is horrified.

She can't truly think he would consider this.

"No," he says, because she tries to fight him, "Stop."

"You'll get there faster without my weight slowing you down---"

"I said no," he snaps, "Soldiers are likely still in the area." She can probably hear the note of panic in his voice. He can't steady himself. She wants to wander alone. She wants to sacrifice herself for him again. What is wrong with her?

No. He would never. He will never.

"All the more reason," she tries. Mad, she must be mad.

He can't breathe. He can't think beyond the ache in his chest. He ties the saddlebag shut and then he is glaring at her. He can't stop himself.

"You're not this stupid," he says. She can't think this low of him. Not truly. He is not a coward who would leave an ally behind. He will not risk her life. 

"Fenris," she says. She makes her voice soft, as if it will convince him. She looks at him. She smiles, and his breath hitches.

"No. Enough," he says, "The matter is closed. We will not speak of it again."

He will not leave her behind.


	40. After Falon'Din: Firsts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day of firsts.
> 
> more fluff

Neria holds on to Fenris's leg. She pulls herself up while Mahanon watches, his eyes round as saucers. She looks up at Fenris. She wobbles a little before she steadies. She holds up one hand, expectantly.

"Buh," she says, "Pa."

Fenris is helpless to resist. He picks her up and then she is laughing. She has been talking more lately. It is nothing they understand, but it means something to her. And Mahanon seems to be able to follow it.

"Aren't you the clever girl," Fenris says, "Pretty soon you will be walking."

She grabs his nose and slobbers on his cheek. She makes incomprehensible sounds. She pokes his chin.

Mahanon watches for several seconds before he has had enough. He drops the toy nug he'd been chewing and crawls toward them. He gets a hold of Fenris' leg and after a few false starts he pulls himself up. He makes a strange hissing sound and almost falls.

He holds up a hand. He looks terribly offended he has been left out. Neria looks down at him.

"Pa, buh?" she asks. 

Mahanon babbles, furiously. Neria looks at Fenris.

"Buh," she says. And it is her tone that makes Ellana snort. She says it so matter-of-factly, she leaves no room for argument. 

Mahanon bites him. He is tired of waiting.

Fenris shoots Ellana a Look.

"You could help," he says.

"I could," she says. She is content to watch because they are adorable, but then Mahanon shrieks and the fun is over. She scoops him up.

But he is not pleased. He reaches for Fenris. Of course he does.

"You're popular today," she says.

"I have no idea why," he says, "I can not carry you both."

When Mahanon starts to cry, Ellana can't help but feel rejected. Neria joins him. She wails. The sound of the two of them combined is terrible. Fenris is mortified.

"Oh, da'len," she says, "It's alright." She puts him on the floor. She holds him up so he's standing.

"Come on, Mahanon, show Fenris how we walk," she says, "Look up. How do we walk?"

He sniffles and looks up at her, betrayed again, but he quiets. She holds onto him. He bends his legs and jumps. He squats down and then pushes up again. He picks one foot up and gets it in front of him. His forehead furrows in concentration. He tries again. With her help he takes another step. And then another.

"It looks like we have some competition, Neria," Fenris says, "Shall we show them both how it's done?"

"Doo, Pa," Neria says. She points at Mahanon. 

He helps her stand. She grips his fingers and stumbles. She moves quicker than Mahanon. She moves toward him. She babbles. She lets go of one of his hands but holds on tight with the other. She tilts sideways. She starts to fall. Fenris steadies her.

"Oh my, look at you two," Ellana says.

Mahanon tries to jump again. She has to be quick to catch him. He picks up speed.

Neria lets go of Fenris' other hand. She stands by herself and Ellana holds her breath. Fenris is poised, tense, ready to catch her. Neither of them speak. 

Neria shuffles. She manages one step. She manages a second. She is walking. 

But it doesn't last. She loses her balance. She sits down hard.

"Did you see--" Fenris starts.

"Her first steps," Ellana says, and she wants to shriek. She only just manages to stop herself from scaring them all, "Did you see sissy, Mahanon? She did it!" He grins. He laughs. He moves toward Neria, but when he is close enough, he keeps walking. He gets a hold of Fenris' leg. He looks up at him.

"Buh?" he asks.

When Fenris picks him up, Neria stares at him. She looks horrified. She looks at Ellana as if to say "what just happened here" and then her face is red. Her lip trembles. Her eyes water.

She screams. Ellana sighs. She picks her up. 

Mahanon ignores the noise for once. He gets the side of Fenris' hand in his mouth. He chews on it. 

"I do not understand it," Fenris says.

Neria reaches for him. She strains. She twists in Ellana's arms and she almost drops her. Ellana is doubly rejected today. She would be lying if she said it didn't sting. 

"Pa pa pa pa," Neria says.

There is something about it that makes Ellana freeze. It is very much like Papae. It is the shemlen version of it. Father. Papae. Papa. It makes her heart clench. Despite the screaming, it makes her smile.

"Is she saying what I think she's saying?" Fenris asks.

She can't be but she is.

"Papa," Neria says again, but it is clearer this time. 

Ellana has never called him Papa. He is always just Fenris. Neria has come up with the name on her own. It is not just babbling, nonsense syllables. She looks at him and she calls him Papa.

She is much too young to remember Falon'Din calling himself Papae.

"You've been chosen" Ellana says, "Do you mind? I can discourage her if you'd rather---"

"No," Fenris says, and he says it a little too quick, "It is...no. If that is what she wants to call me, I am....I am honored. Unless it bothers you."

"I think it's perfect," she says. When she kisses him, Mahanon kisses her. He slobbers all over her cheek.

Before Fenris can protest, she deposits Neria on his hip. The child stops crying. Finally. She buries her face in his shoulder.

"This is not a good idea," he says.

But he is wrong. He has two arms. He has two hips. His weapon of choice is a giant sword. He can handle two babies at once. 

Papa, she thinks, and she likes how it sounds.


	41. After Falon'Din: Papa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They call him Papa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Papa Fenris prompt.

When the twins are three and a half, Merrill and Sera come to visit. Mahanon is pleased. More than pleased. He follows Merrill around like a lost puppy. He shows her his favorite toys. He shows her Neria's favorite toys. And when he runs out of things, he tries to make some up.

He is an adorable nuisance. 

Ellana is exhausted from trying to redirect him after just ten minutes. She has been so tired lately. She would give anything just to go back to sleep.

Merrill smiles and indulges him as long as she can, but she has come for a reason. She pulls Fenris to the side. She is beaming.

"It's not blood magic," she promises, "But it works. I can heal you." And her heart leaps into her chest. She knows what Merrill is talking about now. She knows the reason for the visit.

His eye. That is what this is.

Ellana sees the doubt on his face. The milky white of his damaged eye stands out, a sharp contrast against his skin. He has had to re-learn how to fight, to move, to stay calm when something surprises him from that side. He has come to terms with what Falon'Din did to him, but it has been a trial.

She still feels guilty. Even after all these years, all this time, she blames her self. 

It is worse that they are still living here, in his castle. Despite her attempts to strip all the pieces of him away, his memory lingers in every corner. The new bed has made little difference. And poor Mahanon wears his face, Solas' smile. It is not a perfect copy---Mahanon has not inherited his chin, but the rest of him is so similar, it makes her breath hitch. 

Her sweet little man. She wouldn't change him for all the world.

Neria alternates between glaring at Sera and trying to jump on Fenris' back. Sera makes faces at her until she looks away. She scowls. She buries her face in Fenris' shirt.

"What do you want to do?" Fenris asks Merrill, still wary.

"It takes a few castings," Merrill says, "And a few weeks, but I have time. I won't lie. It will hurt a fair bit. It isn't blood magic, Fenris, it's ordinary healing magic, but it's old, so very old. If you want, we can start now."

And he does want. 

He struggles with his fear of magic, his distrust, but Ellana can see in the way he leans toward Merrill, the way his eyes light up. He wants this. To be able to see out of that eye again, to be whole again. She sees hope in him. It is beautiful.

He gives Merrill a nod, finally. They retreat to the infirmary and Ellana has to snatch Neria up to stop her from running after. He will be in pain and Neria doesn't need to see it.

Neria struggles. She wants to go with Papa and she is furious. And so is Mahanon, but eventually they calm. She gets them settled with their books and she thinks it is almost too much. She wonders when she started to feel so old.

 

His vision is fuzzy at first. It is cloudy and strange, but by the third week, it starts to clear. He can see again. His eye doesn't ache. It is as it was. There is color again. When he looks in the mirror, he sees the face he wants to see.

Merrill was right and there were no terrible consequences. No blood magic. No demons. He doesn't know what to think.

But he is happy. He can almost forget the pain of it, when Falon'Din dug his finger in and ruined it. The agony that followed, the fever, the infection---there were days after he didn't know where he was or what had happened.

He had begged for Hawke to come. To save him. But Hawke never came. When Fenris remembered why, the hurt came rushing back and it was as bad as the day it happened. It was worse, somehow. Then when they told him where where Ellana was, who had her, he thought he wouldn't make it. 

If not for Cole and Merrill, he wouldn't have. 

He owes them both too much. He knows he does.

Ellana is asleep again, in the middle of the day, when he first realizes he can read without squinting. He is going to tell her, but she is slumped over in her chair, her head cushioned on her arm, her legs tucked under her.

Neria and Mahanon are far too quiet. They are up to something.

He sets the book aside. He checks their room. He checks with Niala. He doesn't find them, and then he checks Ellana's closet.

They have erected a makeshift tent, draping a blanket over the back of a one of the chairs and tying one end to the shoe rack. They have managed to dump all of her clothes on the floor, and one of them has stolen an inkwell from Ellana's desk. 

They have decorated the floor with it.

He bites his lip. He isn't sure if he wants to laugh or cry. Maybe both. Some of her shirts are ruined. She will not be pleased.

When Neria looks up, he sees what else they've done. They've drawn on their faces. Misshapen hearts and stars and things that look like extra eyes on Neria's and strange lines on Mahanon's---lines that run down his face and around his neck. All in heavy, black, permanent ink. Neria grins. Mahanon laughs.

"See," Neria says, "I made Manon just like you, Papa!"

Oh, he thinks, that's what that's supposed to be. She has missed the mark just a bit.

This is probably the time for a lecture about not ruining their mother's clothes and how ink should only be put to paper, never skin, but he doesn't know where to start. There are hand prints on everything.

Ellana has been far too exhausted lately. He can't let her deal with this.

"Yes," he says, "Just like Papa." Neria beams. Mahanon grins and launches himself at him and Fenris doesn't have to look to know he has smeared it all over the back of his shirt.

He rubs his face on his shirt. The ink smears. Fenris doesn't want to look.

"Well, you two, " he says, "Mamae's not feeling well, so we're going to get to play both the quiet game and the clean up game."

Neria eyes him suspiciously, her joy fading. Yes, she is a little too smart for her own good sometimes, but he is not negotiating. They'll have to have another bath. He'll have to hope someone can help him get the ink out of her shirts, because he doesn't know the first thing about stain removal. 

He gets them both by the hands and leads them away, trying not to look at the trail they leave in their wake. Mahanon starts to touch the wall, but when Fenris makes a sharp sound. The boy looks at his hand, at the ink.

"Oh," he says, "Sorry, Papa."

"Sorry, Papa," Neria repeats.

It's going to be a long day.

 

Ellana is surprised she sleeps through it all. Most of the mess has been sorted by the time she wakes. Her shirts are in a horrifying state, and the wall, the floor isn't much better. The children have been scrubbed and scrubbed but the ink has only faded a little. It will take a few more washings. 

She does not have the energy to be upset. 

Fenris looks sheepish when she sees them. 

"It's my fault," he says.

She yawns. She catches his hand and kisses it.

"Don't care yet. Sleepy," she says. She shuts her eyes again, fully intent on going back to sleep, but Mahanon climbs into her lap. 

"Mamae, we made a mess," he says.

"Yes, love, I know," she says, "Don't do it again."

"Papa said we have to say sorry since you're sick," Neria says, "Do you feel better, Mamae?"

Fenris groans.

"That's not quite what I said---"

"Uh huh," Neria says, "Papa said we can't make a mess when Mamae's sick. Right, Manon? We have to wait."

"I don't know," Mahanon says, "Can we have cookies now?"

Ellana laughs because Fenris has the strangest look on his face. She thinks she should be upset about some of this, but she isn't. She doesn't care why, she just enjoys it. Soon enough she will have to take inventory of the damage and then she'll cry.

"No cookies until after dinner," she says, and then it hits her, "Wait, what time is it?"

Fenris' face is a little red.

"It's late. Dinner time," he says, "I was going to bring something up from the kitchens, if you want to go back to sleep. Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," she says, but now she's worried. She missed lunch. She nodded off just a little after breakfast. She has been asleep all day. 

Well. She must be coming down with something. She hopes she doesn't pass it to the kids. She hopes Fenris doesn't catch it. Mahanon squeezes her a little too hard and then he's off and running. Neria follows. Fenris calls to them to slow down.

She'll have to pay a visit to the healer later, just to be safe.

 

He finds a bottle of Tevinter Red tucked away in the cellar three days after the debacle. It's just sitting there, wasting away---no one will miss it, he thinks. Besides, it is her favorite. He wants to make her smile. After the mess they made of her closet, she needs something.

He brings it out when the twins are asleep.

She has been feeling better. There is more color in her cheeks and she has stopped sleeping quite so much. She lights up when she sees the bottle. She reaches for it, and then she stops. Her face falls.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

He is half out of his shirt but he stops. 

"I spoke to the healer today," she says, "We should talk."

 _We should talk._ It echoes. It rushes through him and he goes cold. 

"You're still ill?" he asks. He wants her to say no. He wants her to say everything is fine, but how can it be? If everything was fine, they wouldn't need to talk. He sits beside her on the bed. He takes her hand.

"I'm pregnant," she says. Her smile is small but it is there, it is real. 

He doesn't understand at first, but then----then---his throat constricts. His eyes are too warm. _I'm pregnant._ She's pregnant. She's carrying his child. They are going to have another baby.

"Are you ok...with this?" she asks. Her smile fades. She looks unsure and he feels like an ass.

He kisses her. He kisses her again and again. His cheeks feel strangely wet but he doesn't care. Another baby. They are having another baby. She makes a happy sound. She drags her fingers down his chest, she makes him shudder. 

"I'm far better than just ok," he says, at last. 

He is happy. 

He is.

 

When the twins are four they move from Falon'Din's castle to the Free Marches. The eluvian network has been completely repaired, in small part, thanks to Merrill and and Velanna, but it is still an ordeal to transport everything to the new house. By mid morning, Ellana is exhausted. She sits under a tree instead of in a chair in the house.

He is going to have to help her up again.

And Neria is in a mood.

"Papa!" she says, and she stamps her foot in the mud, she splatters it on everything, "Carry me!" She is already furious about the change. She doesn't like her new room. She doesn't like the trees outside her window. She doesn't like that Niala is not going to be able to visit until her birthday.

She pulls on Fenris' shirt. She strains, trying to get his attention. When he finally gives it, he is not happy.

"I am not carrying you while there's work to be done," he says, "Find your brother."

"Papa!" she says, "No!"

She stamps her foot again. She kicks the puddle. She gets muddy water all over him. She needs her nap, he thinks. That much is clear.

He sighs. He kneels down to her level, and when he does, she throws her arms around his neck and sobs.

"I'm not picking you up," he says, softly, but he hugs her. He pats her back, "What's wrong? Are you hungry?"

She shakes her head. She rubs her nose on his shirt. It is disgusting. He sighs again.

"I know you're unhappy about the move, love," he says, "But everything is going to be fine. Go find your brother. You don't want him to finish putting his toys away before you, do you?"

She tightens her grip. She sort of growls into his throat. She doesn't care what Mahanon does today. Clearly. He pries her hands apart and stands. She shrieks and stomps in the puddle and he thinks he's going to lose his temper. There is mud on Ellana's chair now. It will have to be cleaned.

"Neria," he says. She stops at the tone, her eyes going wide. He doesn't like to use this voice, but it always works. Her face scrunches up this time. She goes red. She cries again and then she runs to Ellana, where she is sitting in the shade, trying to catch her breath.

She tries to crawl into Ellana's lap but the swell of her stomach makes it difficult. And she doesn't find the sympathy she's looking for.

"Your papa can't stop every time you want to be carried, da'len. You're supposed to be putting away your toys," she says, "Don't track mud into the house."

"I wanna go home," she says, but her voice goes up about five octaves. She makes Ellana flinch. She makes Fenris' head hurt.

"Neria," Fenris says again, "Lower your voice."

"No! Take me home!" she says. And she says it over and over again. Mahanon watches from his window, eyes wide, mouth open in surprise. He ducks down after a moment.

"Enough, da'len, enough," Ellana says, "I know you don't want to move, love, and I'm sorry you're unhappy. But we have the eluvian. We can visit whenever we want."

Neria cries. She stomps. When Ellana tries to touch her shoulder, she lashes out and she hits her. 

"Neria!" he says, "That's enough."

She looks up at him and she is miserable. 

"Apologize to your mother and then sit down," he says, "We do not hit."

But she is too angry to apologize. She doesn't want to sit either. Now, she wants to find Mahanon. Now, she wants to make herself scarce. But it is too late. 

He scoops her up. He sits her down in a quiet corner in her room and he tells her to stay there until she can be calm and apologize. She has done this too often as of late. 

"Perhaps we should stop for the day," Ellana says.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

She tries to laugh but the hurt is still there.

"I'm fine," she says, "Poor Neria though. She's exhausted. I wasn't thinking."

"You're no better," he says, "I've finished the bedrooms. You should lay down, try to sleep."

"Later," she says, "I'm all better. I'd like to get a start on the bookshelves."

She smiles and holds up a hand. He catches it, helps her up, but it takes some doing. He kisses her cheek. She is infuriatingly stubborn sometimes.

"If you wait a little while longer, I can help," he says. There is still so much to do, furniture to move, things to unpack, and now mud to wash out of the chair.

She waves him away.

"No thanks, vhenan, I have this," she says. She rubs a spot on her stomach. She makes a face. She is beautiful, he thinks. 

Neria is curled up asleep when he goes back to check on her. Not long after, he finds Ellana curled up asleep on the couch. And Mahanon has dismantled the toy chest. 

Again.


	42. After Falon'Din: Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris is ill. He's a terrible patient.
> 
> Takes place about a month or so after Varric is born.

When she wakes up, she's aware it is much too hot. She is soaked with sweat. She rolls over. She faces Fenris only to find he's the source. He is shivering under the covers but he is burning up.

He wakes when she touches his face. His eyes are glassy. He is miserable.

"Do you need me to---" he starts to ask.

"I need you to rest," she says, "You're ill."

She tries to run through the mental catalogue she keeps of remedies. It's been a while since she's had to tend to a fever, but she remembers. She thinks she has all the ingredients on hand.

"I'm fine," he says.

He isn't fine. She stares at him until he tries to sit up. He starts to tip sideways. 

No.

Just no.

"I'll get you some water," she says. She smooths the hair back from his face---it is damp with perspiration. He whimpers, and when he hears himself, he makes a face. He tries to snap out of it. He tries to be strong.

He is worse than the twins.

She gets up to check on Varric. He sleeps better than any of them and he's only an infant. She expected night time feedings and crying fits, but he has been relatively quiet. He sleeps through almost everything.

But when she stands, when she peers down at him, he looks up, his eyes so wide and big and blue. He kicks his legs and smiles. His tiny finger curl in and out, flexing, and his back goes a little stiff. Well, as stiff as he can manage. He is still so very wobbly. 

"There you are, my sweet," she says, "How's my little man this morning?"

He snuffles a little when she picks him up. There is a diaper change in his immediate future. She'll fetch water for Fenris, and then she'll have to check on the twins.

"Are you hungry?" she asks Fenris, "Do you think you can eat?"

She looks at him when he doesn't answer. He is sitting propped against his pillows, his eyes shut, dozing. Well. She won't wake him. Sleep would do him good.

She changes Varric. She avoids a minor catastrophe, barely getting the diaper back over him before he starts to pee again. She waits until he's done, grabs a fresh diaper, and starts the process again. When she picks him up, he turns his head, he moves it back and forth against her. 

"Is it breakfast already?" she asks.

He doesn't answer but he makes more of his strange snuffling sounds. 

She pours Fenris a glass of water and sets it on his night stand, for when he wakes. She checks on Neria and Mahanon, still asleep in their beds. And then, she settles in her chair with Varric to feed him.

The sun isn't up yet. There are still a few short hours of dark before the sky starts to brighten. She can see the twinkle of starlight through the window. It is a rare moment of peace.

 

The next time Fenris wakes, he is worse. She steeps gingerroot in boiling water. She strains it out and brings it to him to drink. The face he makes is horrible, but he doesn't argue. It makes him sweat more. She brings him water again. He drinks it like he's trapped in a desert.

Neria and Mahanon play their newly devised scream and chase game until she thinks she's going to snap. She gives them paper and the pretty, colored chalk Velanna sent for their last birthday. They make pictures for Papa to make him feel better.

She hopes they don't catch this. She hopes his fever isn't contagious. For them, for Varric. She doesn't know how they will fare with a fever that high. But if they're going to get it, they've already been exposed. There's nothing she can do to prevent it.

She brings Fenris more water. She makes ice, wraps it in a thin cloth to put on his head. She makes a soup her clan used to make to help fight sickness. Chicken and herbs. He gets a few bites before he falls asleep.

And every time she sits to feed Varric, the twins disappear. They sneak into the pantry or the basement. They go into the attic. They get into the cupboards they know they aren't supposed to touch. They make a mess. They balk when they're told to clean it up.

When she catches Mahanon tearing the hinges off his toy chest, she thinks she might have a meltdown. It is the third time he's done this. The third time this week. 

She takes them outside to play. She sits with Varric under the nice shade tree and watches. 

Neria chases Mahanon, she screams the entire time. Then Mahanon turns to chase her, and he makes the same wretched noise. Varric fusses. He doesn't care for the sound and she can't blame him. It is louder than normal. It is new and it is obnoxious. 

"A little quieter, please," she tells them, and it lasts for all of two minutes. Then they are back to screaming and shrieking and terrifying everything living within a five mile radius. Anything that can hear them probably runs. Hides. 

She is more than tempted to do the same.

When they finally tire of the game, she thanks the gods. Varric curls his hand around her finger and yawns. He shuts his eyes. He is so very small, she thinks, he is so very perfect. 

She hears footsteps. 

When she looks up, she thinks this is the last straw. This is the thing that's going to send her over the edge. Fenris is out of bed. He is surly faced and unsteady on his feet.

"Why didn't you wake me?" he asks, it comes out a croak, "I am not so ill I can't help you."

He grunts when Neria tackles him. She pulls on his arm and tries to drag him with her after Mahanon. They found another treasure he absolutely must come and see. It's most definitely not an ordinary stick this time or an ordinary rock. This is special. It is important. He'll like it....no. Fenris is far too pale for this. He is going to pass out.

"You get back in bed," she says, "You are a mess. You're going to fall and crack your head open. I am not in the mood to stitch you up."

He scowls. He pries his arm out of Neria's grasp and sends her after Mahanon alone. He says she can show him her treasures later.

"Ellana," he tries.

"I've handled far worse than this," she says, "Get some rest. Drink more water. You're ill." He is so stubborn she could happily throttle him. He sits beside her in the shade. He rests his head on her shoulder. He watches Varric.

She doesn't know if she's imagining it or not, but he feels the tiniest bit cooler. 

"I do not like feeling like this," he says.

"No one likes to be sick, vhenan," she says.

"Not sick, useless," he says, "I have been useless today."

She is surprised he would feel that way. It's just one fever. It's just one day. He does so much, she would have thought he'd enjoy the respite.

"You aren't useless," she says.

"You've done everything," he says, "While I slept."

"You have not fully healed from Varric," he continues, "I am supposed to make things easier for you---"

She sighs. He is so very silly. She is fine. She is almost back to normal. Well. As normal as she can be. She doesn't hurt. She isn't so tired she can't function.

"No, vhenan. You are supposed to drink plenty of water and rest," she says, "That is your only job for today. And perhaps tomorrow. For however long it takes for you to feel better."

He grumbles.

He shuts his eyes. 

And when he goes quiet, she thinks he is dozing. He has propped himself up against her and he is going to fall on his face if she moves. This is foolish. He should be in bed.

He jolts when Neria shrieks. He looks confused for a moment. He almost cracks his head on hers.

Ellana has officially had enough of this nonsense. 

"Go to bed. If I have to tie you up to get you to stay there, don't think I won't do it," she says.

He doesn't like it, but finally, he gets up. He trudges back inside, back to their bedroom and hopefully to sleep.

 

He is up and feeling better by morning. She can't convince him to stay in bed. He makes breakfast. He almost burns the eggs. He dips his sleeve in the pancake batter. He makes a bit of a mess. It isn't his usual breakfast routine. He needs another day of rest. He shouldn't be pushing himself, she thinks.

He certainly shouldn't be trying to entertain the children. 

She tries to get Neria and Mahanon settled with paper and chalk again. She tries to stop them from pulling on him, but it is futile. They are determined. And Fenris is no help. He thinks he has something to prove. Ridiculous. Infuriating. Utterly foolish.

She kiss Varric's hand. She makes him laugh. At least one of them is sensible, she thinks, even if that one only a month old.

About an hour after breakfast, Fernis starts to look a little gray. He slows. He isn't as steady as he should be. When he stands still, she catches him leaning on things for support---the wall, a chair, the table.

He starts to sweat again. 

Really, this man, she thinks. 

"Go to bed," she says.

"Now," she says. She doesn't know any sleep spells, but she's not above asking Merrill to find her one.

"I'm---"

"Foolish if you finish that sentence," she says, "Stop being so stubborn. Go to sleep. If it makes you feel better you can have diaper duty for the rest of the month. Consider it a trade if it helps."

She says it a little sharper than she should. Her temper is running too hot. 

He glares. He looks like he's going to yell at her, protest, but then, the fight goes out of him. He slumps. He looks so terribly weary.

"If it means so much to you," he says.

"It does." She gets him by the chin. She gives him a quick peck on the corner of his mouth. He shuffles away and the twins are not happy. They try to go after him until she tells them Papa's sick. Then, Neria wants to make him something so he'll feel better. Not a picture this time. She wants to make something he can eat or drink. And that is a disaster in and of itself.

Her suggestions are...unique and horrible. They seem to center around dumping the entire contents of her spice cabinet into hot water and then adding pink rose petals. Or boiled soap water. No. Gods, no.

It takes too long to steer Neria's attention to another task.

Ellana checks on Fenris. He is out cold again. When she sees him, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, she is relieved. She was tense and ready for another fight, but he is asleep. He is done fighting her.

She makes dinner for Neria and Mahanon. She makes more soup for Fenris if he feels like eating. She puts Varric down when he falls asleep. And then, it is time to corral the twins. They are not fond of bed time. Neria especially. She doesn't like to sleep.

But they are both so very tired. 

Ellana is so very tired. She feels like she's being pulled in about a dozen different directions.

It takes everything she has to stay calm while she gets them into their nightclothes. She tells them four bedtime stories before they quiet. They try every trick to keep themselves awake. 

_I need more water, Mamae._

_I'm hungry again, Mamae. I'm not sleepy, Mamae._

_I have to go potty, Mamae._

_Can I have milk, Mamae? Another cookie, Mamae?_

_Five more minutes, Mamae._

She gets up when Mahanon asks to read another story. She has read enough. They don't need another book tonight. They are as bad as Fenris. 

"No more, da'len, Mamae's tired," she says, "Get back in bed. Go to sleep." If she has to say it one more time, to anyone, she is going to lose her mind.

They pout but they crawl in bed. They argue. They complain, but they obey. When she checks on them not ten minutes later, they are fast asleep. Of course they are. Just like Fenris. Just like Varric. She is the only one awake. The house is so beautifully silent.

She should go to bed herself, but this is a rare opportunity. She pulls one of her favorite books from the shelf--- from Varric Tethras' Sword and Shields series---and curls up by the fireplace. She settles in with a blanket and a cup of tea and she reads. She can almost hear Varric's voice as she does. She can almost see Cassandra, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. It takes her back to another time. It stings.

She reads until she hears baby Varric fussing. She gets up to tend to him and she is struck by the time. It is early, early morning. She has lost the night.

She is going to be exhausted.

But it is worth it. 

Fenris' face is cool when she touches him, when she finally crawls into bed. His fever is gone. He stirs when he feels her. He catches her wrist. He presses his lips to her palm.

"G'morning," he mumbles.

He shifts, pulls her against him, her head cushioned on his arm.

"Good morning, love," she says.

Whatever he says, it is far too garbled to be understood. He is drifting off again. And she should do the same, she thinks. 

So she does.


	43. After Falon'Din: Aveline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She has never been this angry at him before.

She can't remember the last time they fought, but she thinks it couldn't have been this bad. She doesn't even want to look at him right now. She is seething.

He didn't discuss it with her first, he just agreed. She can't believe he did.

“What did you want me to do?” he asks.

“You're joking, clearly,” she says.

“I'm sorry,” he says, but it is a lie. He doesn't sound sorry. He doesn't look sorry. He isn't sorry.

He is angry. Frustrated. Well, tough. She didn't do anything wrong. She would have talked to him first before making any important decisions. 

“They need my help,” he says, “You would have told me to go. I don't understand why this is an issue now.”

Of course he doesn't. He thinks he's only cutting out the middle and jumping right to the point. He isn't. He should have discussed it with her first since they are both affected. And Merrill should have thought of that. There are plenty of people who would be just as suitable as Fenris. There was no need to ask him at all.

He's going to be gone three god damned months. She's going to be alone with the kids. He's going to be putting himself in danger, and he didn't think she deserved so much as a heads up. The more he tries to explain, the worse she feels.

But that is not all that is weighing on her mind.

She thinks her birth control has failed again. She's two weeks late. She feels lousy and she knows all the signs. They had decided after Cillian, they were done. No more. She doesn't know how to tell him. 

She is embarrassed. Disappointed with herself. She will love the baby if that's what this is but it is hard not to be upset. She hasn't even had the chance to broach the subject. He is too busy springing things on her at the last possible second.

Three months. Three god damned months.

“You should have talked to me first,” she says, “We're supposed to be partners.”

“We are---I am talking to you. We are talking,” he says, “But I need to help if I can. I don't want to stand back and wait for bad news. They might already be dead but they might not. We might be able to save them.”

And some of the people on Merrill's team are their friends. They are people they care about. If they're in trouble, what choice do they have but to help?

They should not have been messing about in the Deep Roads. She thought Merrill would have learned by now why it's a terrible idea.

“You've already made the decision for us,” she says, “If you can't understand why that upsets me, I don't know what else to tell you.”

He is right about one thing. She would have told him to go. Without question. But she feels insulted. She feels like he's taking her for granted.

He's going to miss Varric's birthday.

She doesn't want to have another child. She really doesn't. They might have to stop having sex altogether because this just keeps happening.

Fenris sighs and some of his anger fades. He looks at her and he is miserable.

“I'll tell Merrill I made a mistake. I'll stay,” he says.

And people will die. She'll be the one to blame for it. No.

None of this is fair.

“Next time just talk to me first,” she snaps, “Go ahead and go.” And they'd better find Merrill's missing people. If he leaves her here and it's all for nothing, she doesn't know what she'll do.

“I'm sorry,” he says again. This time, she thinks he means it.

She let him kiss her goodbye and then he goes. She wants to scream. 

The twins take it about as well as she expected, but Cillian cries. Varric is the one who surprises her. He is angrier, angrier than he has ever been.

He throws a fit.

Varric.

And it isn't typical. He usually gets quiet, retreats. He's the crier in the family---not Cillian. But now, he yells. He never yells.

She has to send him to his room to calm down. Out of all of the children, she has had to discipline him the least. Fenris will miss his birthday. He's hurt. This isn't fair. Why, he asks, why?

She could cheerfully strangle Merrill and whatever monster ruined her expedition. She could cheerfully set the whole Deep Roads on fire. 

Maybe afterward, when Fenris returns safe and sound, she will.

 

The first two weeks fly by. Her anger helps. She keeps from going crazy by sheer force of will. Despite Cillian's best attempts, she doesn't crumble.

He is worse than usual.

He uses her favorite book as a stepping stool and breaks the binding. Chapter three comes loose and she loses two pages. It's one of Varric's----Varric Tethras, the man her son is named after. The book can be replaced but this one was one of Cassandra's and that makes it special.

He tips over the basket of eggs, breaking their entire supply. He draws on his walls with ink. He ruins another pair of pants and he is down to his last pair. He has grown another two inches and she can't keep up with him.

He picks fights with Varric and this time Varric doesn't come to her. He retaliates. He shoves him. And when he falls, Cillian gets his now ink stained pants caught on something and tears it from the thigh down to the ankle. He scrapes his elbows and screams bloody murder. Both of them cry.

It has only been two weeks and it has been one disaster after another. She thinks she's not going to survive this.

 

Varric's birthday is a quiet affair. It's supposed to be. She invites Lanaya and her daughter. She invites Loranil and Orana and their two boys. There aren't many kids Varric's age. Most are much younger. They don't have a lot of friends.

Cillian though. There are too many to count. That seems to be the year everyone decided to start expanding their families. His parties are always a nightmare. She tries to take on too many guests. Cillian is only three but he wants to be surrounded with people.

Varric is different. He is satisfied with just three. 

The party does not go well. Varric is in a mood from the beginning. She knows why. She understands. But it can't be helped.

Fenris is away. He can't make it back. There are too many lives at stake. 

It still hurts. Varric is quiet again. He is moody. She doesn't blame him, but still, a part of her wishes he could just forget about it for a moment. She wishes his birthday was happier.

Cillian gets into the cake before she has a chance to cut it. She finds an actual bite mark, as if he leaned in and chomped on it like a wild animal. She knows it is him. He has bitten her before and she knows what his teeth marks look like.

She spent hours on that damn cake. She learned to make stupid Orlesian icing to make Varric's day just a little bit more special. She just about sold her soul for the chocolate to make the damn thing.

She considers her options. She thinks about going back to her room, locking herself in, and just crying, but she has too many guests and there are children present. As much as she wants to fall apart, she knows she can't. This is Merrill's fault. This is Fenris' fault. Both of them are idiots.

She has just gotten the news confirming her suspicions. She's pregnant again. She'll be almost four months by the time Fenris drags his ass back home. She could kill him. Even though she is equally to blame, it feels better to dump it all on him in his absence. Just for a little while. She can be rational after the cake situation has been resolved. She can be rational when she has a moment to breathe.

She can't even punish Cillian properly because nothing works. He is worse than usual. He doesn't stay in time outs. He doesn't listen when she tries to tell him why he's being punished. He is into everything all of the time and she is exhausted.

How on earth are they going to do this again?

Lanaya's daughter, Sathra, is calm and quiet and her manners are so beautiful Ellana could weep. Orana and Loranil's boys are just as polite. They say please and thank you. They wait for permission. They make her wonder what she's doing wrong. How are they so well behaved?

She would like to put herself in time out. She truly would.

She cuts the damaged chunk off the cake and dumps it in the trash. What the guests don't know won't hurt them, she thinks. She tells herself everything is alright. Just another hour or so. She can get through that much.

Varric doesn't take a single bite. He shuts himself up in his room while Cillian tears into his presents. Ellana doesn't realize what he's doing at first, she's trying to talk Varric into coming back out. Cillian gets the second one open before she can stop him. He makes another damn mess she doesn't have the energy to clean.

She is glad no one says anything, but she thinks they must be judging her. Her kids are wild. She has failed them. She is a terrible hostess.

“It will be alright,” Orana tells her when the party is officially over. She gives her a hug and Ellana thinks she's going to cry, “Fenris will be back before you know it.”

Will he? She wonders.

She thinks she might just hate Merrill. Just a little. She just might hate them both.

 

She thinks morning sickness has gotten worse. Or perhaps she had just forgotten about it. Cillian was the easiest of her pregnancies. She felt fine up until the last month. It is almost funny because he is the hardest to parent. He is the most difficult of all her children.

This, though, is worse than terrible. Everything makes her gag. Even her cravings lead her to misery. 

Mahanon and Neria think she's ill. They try to surprise her with breakfast. They try to make the soup she makes them when they're sick. They do a decent enough job. Any other time, she might have been able to eat it. 

The smell sets her off again. 

When she stops emptying her stomach, she looks up and she realizes they saw it all. Their faces are pale. They look worried. They _are_ worried.

She isn't ready to tell them. She wants to wait. But they probably think she's dying. If the looks on their faces are any indication. She is going to have to tell them something.

But how can she? She hasn't even told Fenris yet. She can't tell them before she tells him. 

“Should we find Lanaya?” Neria asks.

“Absolutely not,” Ellana says, “I'm fine. You are not going through the eluvian.”

Maybe she should have tempered her tone because Neria bursts into tears. Mahanon looks like she just slapped them both. He steps back. He looks like he wants to cry too. Ellana tries to breathe. She tries to keep herself calm, but really, she didn't yell. There is no need for tears. 

Everyone has lost their mind.

“I just wanted to help,” Neria says. Maybe Ellana did yell. Maybe she didn't realize how it sounded.

“I know you do,” Ellana says, “I'm not feeling well, I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm sorry.” She isn't angry with them. This isn't their fault. They are worried and they want to help. It is a good thing.

“I'm not a baby,” Neria says, “We've been through the eluvian before.” The apology has done nothing. Neria is still hurt. Still angry.

“Not without me,” Ellana says, “I'm fine. You don't need to even think about it. I promise.”

There is a moment she thinks they are going to argue, but then, it passes. Neria doesn't stop crying, but it eases a bit. It is not quite so frantic. They are not going through the eluvian by themselves, no matter how sick they think she is. 

“When we throw up, you make us stay in bed,” Mahanon says.

“Yes, love,” she says, “I'm the parent. You don't worry about this. If I get worse, we'll all go to Lanaya, but I know what this is and it isn't serious. Thank you for making breakfast. It was very thoughtful.”

“You can't even eat it,” Neria says.

“I will later. Once my stomach has settled,” Ellana says. She lies. She probably won't eat it. She probably won't eat much of anything. She isn't hungry and she's an adult. She doesn't have to explain herself to anyone.

She is running out of patience. She doesn't want to snap at them again. They haven't done anything wrong. But the thought of them trying to navigate the eluvian network lone makes her heart race. They wouldn't be able to find their way. They'd be lost. She could lose them forever. 

No.

They are here now. They are fine. They won't go wandering now that she's told them not to.

“If you really want to help,” she says, “You could entertain your brother. Cillian is bouncing off the walls. You can take him outside and let him run.”

She doesn't expect them to say yes. They never do. Cillian is worse than a handful, but she didn't realize how worried they are. They follow him outside. They spend the better part of the day just trying to keep up with him. 

She finds Varric holed up in his room. He has taken chairs from the kitchen and draped his blankets over them to make a kind of a tent. He has taken his pillows and the pillows from the spare bed and arranged them on the floor like a makeshift mattress. He has managed to cast a small wisp and he is reading.

“Do you need anything?” she asks. The wisp is so very small but it is so very bright. She didn't know he could cast it. She is proud.

She is also very worried about him. He hasn't been himself since Fenris left. He has gotten worse since his party. He is sullen. He is quiet. He is withdrawn. More so than usual.

She expects him to say no and ignore her, but he doesn't.

“Can you make me some hot chocolate?” he asks.

He is almost smiling.

“Of course,” she says. She feels like a weight has lifted off of her. She wouldn't say no after that. Even if the smell of it makes her gag, she wouldn't say no.

“Thank you, Mamae.” He is her sweet little boy again. For the moment.

But his good mood doesn't last.

Of course it doesn't.

 

Finally, the day comes and she waits for Feris to return. But hours pass. It gets later and the sky starts to darken and Fenris doesn't return. When he is two weeks late, a message arrives. It isn't from Fenris or Merrill. It's from Zevran.

She thinks the worst must have happened until she reads it. And then, her worry dissipates, and she is furious again.

_Everyone is fine. More trouble than anticipated. One more month, no more than two at the most. Fenris sends his apologies---but if you ask me, an apology isn't an apology if you are fully clothed. All parties should be naked. There should be at least one violinist and he should be naked as well. Consider it a friendly suggestion. Much love. Zevran._

She is going to kill them. Merrill. Fenris. Zevran. All of them.

“What's wrong?” Varric asks. He makes her jump---she thought he was in his room. But of course, he would find her when she doesn't want him to. She is going to cry. She is going to cry and she isn't going to be able to stop.

Fenris hadn't even sent the message himself. This is from Zevran. If she wasn't furious before, this would be the thing that did it. He has never been this thoughtless. He has never made her feel so terrible.

“Papa's running late,” she says. And he forgot the important parts of his brain somewhere. He and Merrill both. No doubt that's what's keeping him. He has had to double back to retrieve them.

Varric looks like he wants to cry, but he chokes it down. He rubs his eyes. He breathes and his face gets very, very red.

“When's he coming?” he asks.

“Another month, maybe two,” she says, “But he's fine. There's nothing to worry about.”

Not yet. But when he gets home, maybe. They are going to have words. Strong words. This is never happening again. She is never putting up with it again.

Mahanon takes it worse than Varric. He breaks down. He sobs and she has to hold him until he stops. Cillian spends the rest of the week destroying the house. He gets in her closet and pulls some of Fenris' shirts down. He dumps ink on them. It gets everywhere. Neria is the only one who doesn't test Ellana's sanity. But she oversteps. She forgets she's a child and she can't parent her brothers. Ellana has to intervene and she would rather disappear with a book.

How is she supposed to get through another month of this? Another two months? What is he thinking? What monster could take this long to vanquish? What could be so dangerous?

She thinks, whatever it is, it will be nothing compared to her. 

 

Fenris is gone another month and a half. It is late into the night when she hears the door. Everyone else is asleep. She knows this isn't bandits. She doesn't know how she knows, but she does.

She doesn't know if she's going to yell at him or kiss him. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

She has just tossed the covers back, just swung her legs over the side of the bed when the door opens.

He is thinner. His cheeks are sunken in---hollowed. There are dark circles under his eyes and fading bruises. He looks like he's going to keel over.

He gives her a ghost of a smile.

“You're late,” she says.

“I know,” he says.

"You sent a message through Zevran," she snaps. She is still seething over it. 

“I'm sorry,” he says.

“You look like shit,” she says.

“I know,” he says, “I'm sorry." As if an apology can make up for everything. It can't. 

He needs a bath. He needs about a dozen full meals in him. He needs to sleep for at least a week, but she doubts he's going to listen. The next time he thinks he's going off to the Deep Roads like this, he'd better find another place to live, because he won't be coming back.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asks. 

It's the tremor in his voice that does her in, that shatters her resolve. He looks as heart broken as he is weary. He looks fragile.

“No,” she says, “I don't want you to leave.”

He peels out of his clothes. They are so filthy she doubts they can be salvaged. He cleans himself off as best he can without taking a full bath. And then he's stumbling to bed. He collapses beside her, half under the blankets.

He hasn't said anything about her yet. She doesn't think he's even noticed.

“I missed you,” she says. He takes hold of her hand. he laces his fingers through hers. He kisses her knuckles. Gods, but he does. 

“I missed you too. It was a mess,” he says, “We found red lyrium.”

Her breath catches. She goes cold. Oh. 

Red lyrium. No. 

“It was a corrupted titan,” he says, “We would have finished sooner if you had been there. We had to stop the spread of the lyrium.”

She feels the last of her anger melt away. She is still terribly annoyed about the whole thing, but if he hadn't gone, if they hadn't taken care of the titan, the problem would still be there, festering, growing. He kisses her hand again before he lets go. He shifts. He struggles to pull the blankets up over him. She has to help in the end. He is too tired. It is a wonder he made it home like this.

"We were able to save them," he says, his words slurring, "Some of them. But not enough." Then it was worth it. Not all of Merrill's people were lost. He made a difference.

“We can talk more in the morning,” she says, “You look like you haven't slept in days.”

“I haven't,” he says, “I feel like I'm going mad.”

She kisses his forehead because she can't resist any longer. He doesn't smell very nice, but she is glad he's home. They will talk about the baby in the morning. Maybe by then she'll know what to say.Maybe, but probably not.

He is asleep almost before she rolls back onto her side. 

 

She wakes to shrieking. Cillian is jumping on her bed and Varric and Mahanon and Neria are fighting over who gets to hug Papa now. Finally, the cloud is gone. Finally, the terrible gloom has dissipated.

One more day and she would have lost her mind. She knows she was close.

“Cillian, stop,” she says. He bounces one last time and then he's trying to climb on Mahanon's back. 

“Ow, stop it,” he snaps. He tries to shrug him off but the angle is awkward. Cillian manages to hold on. He roars.

“That's enough,” she says, and she can't wait for him to grow out of this weird wild animal phase, “Let go, now.”

Cillian lets go when she reaches for him. He scrambles off the bed, just out of reach. But Fenris is laughing. He hugs them all. It almost makes her forget how thin he looks. He needs to eat.

Just the thought of breakfast makes her feel ill. 

The children talk over each other. They ask too many questions, too quickly. He can't answer them all fast enough.

“One at a time,” he says.

“You missed my birthday,” Varric says and they all go quiet. Fenris' smile slips off his face. 

“I know,” he says, “I wish I had been here. I'm sorry, Varric.”

“I wish you had been here, too,” Varric says. He looks like the world has ended. Fenris isn't forgiven. Not yet. And she is a little glad. She knows she shouldn't be, but she is. The last few months have been terrible. He hasn't had to deal with any of it.

“I promise,” he says, “It will not happen again.”

Varric doesn't seem convinced. He tries to smile. He fails. And Fenris can't disguise how guilty he feels. He gives him another hug. 

“Would you like to do something to make up for it?” he asks, “Just the two of us.” Varric's face lights up. Yes. Of course he does. It has been four and a half months. They have missed him. They were worried. And no matter how hard Ellana and Fenris try to arrange one on one time, it is difficult to make it work. And with Fenris gone, the last few months had made it impossible. 

She is getting angry again. Just thinking about it.

“I'll start breakfast,” Ellana says. She gets out of bed. She doesn't stop to look at him, to ask what any of them want. She is not in the mood.

They will get what she decides to make.

 

She almost burns the pancakes. The smell of batter makes her stomach roll. It isn't fair. Yesterday, pancakes weren't a problem, but today they are. Tomorrow it could be something else. 

The list of foods she can stand is rapidly shrinking.

She hears shuffling in the hall. When she glances over her shoulder, she sees Fenris trying to walk. But Cillian is sitting on one of his feet, his arms wrapped around his leg. Varric is pulling on Fenris' arm. And Mahanon is talking over everyone again. Neria trails behind, but she isn't unhappy. She is beaming.

“Don't hang on your father like that,” Ellana says. They are going to trip and then there will be tears. And she will have to be the one to fix them all up. No. Not today.

Varric reluctantly lets go, but Cillian ignores her. He growls like a bear every time Fenris takes a step. Gods, but she is too tired for this. She sets the stack of pancakes on the table next to the eggs. She makes a plate for Cillian. She sets it in front of him. He ignores the fork. He stuffs the egg in his mouth with his fingers.

She hears a gasp. 

When she looks up, when she tries to find the source, she sees Fenris---staring at her. He doesn't mask his surprise. His shock.

"What?" she asks. She hates that she has an edge to her voice. She doesn't want a fight. It's much to early. She has no patience. He has only just returned. She wants at least one moment of peace before it all goes to shit.

"You look different," he says. His gaze sweeps over her. He gives her a look that says he has figured it out. He must have truly been exhausted if he's just putting it together now.

Well then.

"Surprise," she says, she keeps her voice dry, emotionless. 

He doesn't say anything. She thinks he's trying, but the words don't come. He opens his mouth. He shuts it again. His emotions ripple, shifting almost too quickly for her to figure them out. She looks for irritation, or even anger, but it doesn't come. She doesn't see it. He is surprised and nothing more. 

The children look confused. Except for Cillian. He isn't listening. He's making more growling noises as he stuffs egg into his mouth. He is making a mess.

"She doesn't look different," Neria says, wrinkling her nose. 

"What surprise?" Mahanon asks.

"I'll tell you when you're older," Ellana says.

"Tell me what?" he asks.

"Nothing. Eat your breakfast," she says, "Please." He makes a rude face. He starts to whine, to protest again, but he stops when she looks at him, when she gives him a long, hard stare.

"Ellana," Fenris says. 

"You too," she says, "Eat your breakfast, you look like you haven't eaten in weeks."

His face twists in irritation. He scowls. He doesn't like being scolded like a child. She doesn't care. She is not having this discussion in front of the children and the kitchen table. They will know when she's further along. But not now.

She is done having babies. This is the absolute last one. If she has to swear off sex for the rest of her life, so be it. That's exactly what she'll do.

This is the last time. 

 

"I'm sorry," he says, when they're alone, "I didn't realize."

"Neither did I," she says. She doesn't push him away when he holds her, when he pulls her into his arms. It feels nice. It is what she has wanted since he left. It is what she has needed. Just one moment of this.

"I should have stayed," he says, "I wish I had."

She believes him, but he is wrong. He was right to go, but he should have talked to her about it first, included her in the discussion. They saved Merrill's people, and for that, it was worth it.

"I won't go again," he says "Next time, they can wait for Dalish and Skinner." There had better not be a next time. They fought a corrupted titan in the Deep Roads. Once is enough.

He could have been hurt. He could have been corrupted by the red lyrium. He could have been killed and she wouldn't have known. She would have been left alone to wonder.

What could she have told the kids? They would have been devastated. 

"It can't be helped," she says, and now she does push him away, "I don't want to talk about it." It just reminds her how angry she is. There is so much they have to do---after Cillian, when they decided he was the last, they gave much of their baby things away. She'll have to make new clothes, blankets. They'll need a new crib. She doesn't have much of anything. There are a few toys Cillian hasn't destroyed and he is still hopelessly attached to them.

"Have you told them yet?" he asks. He means Neria and Mahanon. As if she'd tell them before she told him. No.

"No," she says, "I'm not ready." For any of it. The late night feedings, the loss of sleep, the chaos. She tries to breathe. She tries to stop herself from panicking, but she is fighting a losing battle. They have just gotten Cillian wearing big boy pants, she doesn't relish the thought of changing diapers again. She certainly doesn't feel immortal and magical and young. She just feels old. Too damn old. 

He tries to get her to look at him. When she doesn't, he cups her face between his palms. He kisses her properly. 

"I'm sorry I made a mess of things," he says, "I let you down. It won't happen again." 

"I promise," he says. He kisses her again and again and again.

And that is all it takes. The last of her tension slips away. She is relieved. She is ok. She is still angry---there will have to be groveling on his end, at least for a little while. But this is a start.


	44. After Falon'Din: The Meeting Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mahanon wants to meet Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty far outside my comfort zone, but I really wanted to try it. My apologies if it misses the mark.

She is afraid to say yes when he asks, but she is afraid to say no. Solas is not to blame for the things Falon'Din did. She knows that. But sometimes it is hard to separate the two. They wore the same face for so long.

She has not spoken to Solas in so many years. She doesn't know what to say.

And Mahanon is insistent. He wants to meet him. He wants to talk to him, at least once. 

"Please," he says. 

She can not say no. 

"I'll speak to Abelas," she says, "And then I'll see for myself. If he's well enough, you may." And if he isn't well enough and they push a visit, it could make him worse. It could reopen the wounds. It could cost him too much progress.

Mahanon is twelve. He understands but he doesn't. It is hard to be patient. She has only told him and Neria so much about the circumstances surrounding their birth. She doesn't want them to hurt over this.

Fenris is furious when she broaches the subject. He _is_ hurt. He doesn't say it, but she thinks he is worried about being replaced.

"The Dread Wolf isn't safe," he says, "He has destroyed too many lives. You can't seriously be considering it."

But he means, why am I not enough? Mahanon is his son, has always been. He doesn't want to be cast aside. 

"I will speak with Abelas," she says, "He may not be up for visitors."

"He will be," Fenris says, "When Abelas tells him who wants to see him, he will be."

Some of the anger gives way. She sees despair. Heart ache. But he has nothing to worry about. Mahanon loves him. He will never forget the man who read him bed time stories and chased the monsters out from under his bed. 

She touches his cheek and smiles.

"It will be alright, vhenan," she says.

He doesn't believe her.

 

It takes a while to get a message to Abelas, but when she does, Fenris is right. Solas wants to meet. He wants to see him---them---her. He has been doing better. He has mended much of the damage. The fractures have long since healed.

Abelas is surprised to hear from her. 

"Are you sure?" he asks.

She isn't. She would say no but she has seen Mahanon's face. He needs to see him. He wants to. She can't deny him that. She doubts she really ever could.

"Is he safe?" she asks.

"He is himself again," Abelas says, "Yes."

Something heavy settles over her. Fear. Dread. Uncertainty. Guilt---and that is the worst of it. There is still that voice inside of her that screams it was all her fault. If she had left him alone, Falon'Din wouldn't have taken over. He wouldn't have gained control.

Solas wouldn't have shattered. Abelas wouldn't have had to take care of him.

"I want to speak with him first," she says, "Before I bring Mahanon."

"What about the girl?"

She shakes her head.

Neria hasn't expressed an interest. Quite the opposite. She gets angry when Mahanon mentions him. She shuts down. She won't talk. She says she never wants to. Never. She won't say why, but Ellana wonders if someone has already said something. She wonders if she learned a bit too much before she was ready. She wonders how much she knows about Falon'Din. She will have to ask somehow. She will have to find a way.

And that terrifies her.

Maybe when Neria's older, she'll change her mind and want to meet Solas, but for now, the answer is no.

Abelas gives her a time and a place. Ellana agrees to come.

 

"I should come with you," Fenris says, but she can tell he doesn't want her to go at all. He wants them all to stay. He wants the to forget.

"Someone has to stay here," she says. With the kids. They can't all go.

"We can ask Niala," he says, "Or Merrill."

She looks at him. She doesn't speak. She doesn't know what to say. Fenris and Solas will not be allowed in the same room. She doesn't trust either one of them to be polite, to be calm, and she will not let Mahanon see them argue. She can't deal with it.

"Please don't fight me on this," she says.

Please, she thinks. This is already too hard.

And she is making it worse. Fenris takes his pillow and a blanket off the bed. He sleeps on the floor in the living room. He spends the next day in the garden---he makes himself scarce when she looks for him. 

It hurts. Stings. But she thinks she understands.

"Why are you and Papa fighting?" Neria asks.

"We're not," Ellana says.

"I'm not stupid," she snaps, "You are."

"It's just a disagreement," Ellana says, "It's alright." 

"No, it's not," Neria says, she snaps. Her voice is too sharp, too loud. She wakes Aveline, scares her. 

"Neria, enough," Ellana says, and Aveline is crying in earnest now.

Neria storms away. Now, there are two people who won't talk to her. Fenris and Neria, both in a quiet rage. Mahanon isn't much happier. He doesn't know why he has to wait. He doesn't understand---he isn't a baby, he doesn't need to be protected. And when he is angry, Cillian is angry. When Cillian is angry, he pesters Varric. The house is chaos and she can't think.

The night before Ellana leaves, Fenris relents. He comes to her after the children are in bed, his head bent, his eyes red. He sits on the edge of the bed and he reaches for her. He touches her hand.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"I was wrong," he says.

He is afraid. And so is she.

"I wish you'd let me come with you," he says. He has that old look in his eyes again. Haunted. 

"Nothing will happen," she says, "I promise you." She hopes. But she can't steady her voice.

He kisses her like he's never going to see her again, like she's going to disappear. He falls asleep, curled around her, and the night is restless. He wakes every time she shifts, every time the house creaks, every time the wind blows. He talks in his sleep. He whimpers. He flinches.

He is the first awake, he and Mahanon. They make breakfast. They feed and dress the Varric and Cillian and Aveline. They let Neria sleep and keep Cillian away from her room. Ellana is grateful. She is so tired.

Afraid. When she has time to sit and think, the dark comes rushing back. The memories flood her, choke her. She can feel _his_ hands again. She can feel the press of him against her.

She kisses the kids goodbye---except for Neria, who has shut herself up in her room again. Ellana walks through the eluvian. She thinks she has made a terrible mistake.

 

Abelas was not lying. Solas is himself again. he is as close to it as he can be.

When she sees him, it steals her breath away. He stands when she approaches. He steps back. He bows his head. He is the same as he was. But his eyes are sad. His face is sad. His smile is...not really a smile.

"I did not think you would wish to see me again," he says. He is fine but for a slight tremor in his voice. This is hard for him too, she thinks. She lets out the breath she didn't know she had been holding. She sits across from him. She waits for him to settle back down. To relax. He looks like he is wound too tightly, and she can't blame him. She feels much the same.

"I wasn't sure I could," she says.

"I don't blame you for what happened," she continues, "I never did. But I would be lying if I said this wasn't difficult." He nods. His expression twists. She wishes she could take it back.

"I understand," he says.

"Mahanon wants to meet you," she says.

He is quiet for a long moment. He stares at the table. He clasps his hands together so tightly it looks painful. 

"I would like to meet him," he says, "But I don't know that it is wise."

She doesn't understand. Abelas thinks it will be fine. He has insisted Solas is better.

"Explain?" she asks. It is hard to ignore the spark of fear.

He takes a breath. He holds it. He won't meet her gaze.

"I am---I have done---I do not deserve---" he trails off.

This is harder than she thought it would be. He is still broken. He is still struggling, and she is no better. Just the sound of his voice reminds her. It makes her remember _him_.

"I am a monster," he says at last, "I do not deserve to know him." 

She thinks he is going to stand again, to retreat, and she can't let him. This means too much to Mahanon. She won't be able to explain. She won't be able to make him understand this isn't his fault. 

"Don't do this to us," she says, "I can't, Solas. He wants to meet you. If I thought you didn't deserve it, I wouldn't be here." It was never his fault. Never. He may have taken Falon'Din in willingly, but he had him contained. She's the one who ruined it. She's the one who set him free.

"He is only a child," Solas says, "He doesn't understand."

"He knows his own mind," she says, "He is his father's son." Fenris and Solas. The one thing they have in common. It is no wonder Mahanon is so stubborn, so sure of himself. It is no wonder he has dug in his heels about this.

Solas' breath catches. His eyes are wet. He is shaking. And so is she. 

"You don't have to meet him," she says, "He will be disappointed, but---"

"I want to meet him," Solas says, "That was never in doubt. I don't know what to say. What am I supposed to tell him? How can I---"

"Only what you're comfortable with," she says, "I would prefer---I haven't spoken of Falon'Din. I would rather you didn't either."

He nods. He agrees. Just his name on her tongue is too much. 

"I am sorry," he says. His face crumples. He says it again.

She can not bear this. She can't.

"It isn't you're fault," she says and she is surprised when she touches his hands. She squeezes them and he shuts his eyes. Each breath he takes is ragged, strained, "We can talk about Mahanon or Neria, but not that. I can't talk about it. Please, Solas."

"I wanted to know that you're ok," she says.

He isn't ok. Maybe he never will be again. But he is not dangerous. He will not harm Mahanon, and if it gets strange, they will end the talk. They will try again another time.

"Tell me," Solas says, he tries to steady his voice. He looks at her. He meets her gaze, finally, "I want to know what they're like."

It is a moment before she can speak. 

But when she can, she does. She tells him everything. Once or twice, he even laughs. He smiles.

She feels like her heart is breaking all over again. 

 

Mahanon is on her before she's cleared the eluvian, before she has both feet on the ground. He is bright eyed, eager. He is worried. He is afraid she's going to find a reason to say no.

"Yes, da'len, he's well enough for visitors," she says, "It is being arranged. If you wish to see him, we'll go tomorrow morning."

And now he is afraid. Nervous. Uncertain.

"It will be alright," she tells him. She pretends she is not afraid.

She sees Neria listening from the doorway, watching and scowling. Angry. She is so terribly angry. Gods, she doesn't know what to say to her.

"He would like to meet you too," she says, "If you---"

"No," Neria says, "I don't want to see him. Don't ask me again." She snaps and Fenris hears. He comes around the corner, holding their youngest. When Aveline sees Ellana, she whimpers. She reaches for her and she is chewing on her finger again.

"Watch your tone," Fenris says, "A simple no thank you will suffice." But Neria storms to her room. Fenris sighs.

"She has been like this since you left," he says.

Ellana takes Aveline. She kisses her nose. At least someone is happy to see her, she thinks.

"Aren't you supposed to be taking a nap?" she asks. 

Aveline arches an eyebrow and looks unimpressed. She continues to chew on her finger. It is quiet, so hopes it's a good sign. If Cillian is down for his nap, at least, there will be minimal chaos later. 

"She couldn't sleep. How did everything go?" Fenris asks.

"It went well, all things considered," she says, "A visit will be fine."

He doesn't like it, but he doesn't argue. He makes a face. He tickles Aveline until she giggles.

"When?" he asks.

"Tomorrow," she says.

He doesn't hide his disapproval or his shock.

"I don't want him left alone with him," he says. Mahanon is still here, still watching. At Fenris' tone, his expression shifts. She sees irritation. Anger. Not again, she thinks. This does not need to be a fight.

"I think we should continue this later. I'm beat," she says. She gives Fenris a Look. She holds it a second longer than she needs to. His brow furrows in confusion, but then, he understands. his shoulders relax. He nods.

Aveline yawns. She rubs her eyes.

"Mamae needs a nap too, da'len," she says, "Are you ready to go to sleep?"

She grunts and reaches for Fenris. She strains until he takes her, but she is out of luck. There is a nap in her immediate future. She looks utterly betrayed when he takes her back into her room, when he sits in the rocking chair. 

And Mahanon is upset. 

"Why can't I go alone? I don't need to be watched," he says.

"We know you don't," she says, "I want someone with you."

He stares at her, his expression stormy. For a moment, he is so like Solas it makes her breath hitch. He will not believe her until she tells him the truth and he is too young to hear it. She is not ready to tell it. But he is also so much like Fenris. The way he can give her a lecture with just one look, the way he can look so betrayed.

"I know you're disappointed," she says, "We'll see how the visit goes, and then, if you'd rather meet with him without us, we'll discuss it."

"That means you've already decided," he says.

"No, it doesn't," she says, "There is more to this than---I know it doesn't make sense, and I'm sorry. What happened was very painful, for all of us, not just Solas and I, but for your Papa as well. It's still hard---I'm not ready to talk about it. Please be patient with me."

He wants to yell at her, she can tell, but he doesn't. He gets up. He goes to his room. He doesn't look at her.

She wants to cry.

 

"Are you sure you don't want to---" she asks.

Neria cuts her off with another glare. Ellana stops. If she changes her mind, there will be other times. There is no reason to push.

Mahanon has been up since dawn. He has changed his shirt four times. He has fought with Varric twice. He has woken Cillian. He is trying to pretend he isn't terrified.

Varric rubs his eyes and picks at his eggs. He shuffles them around his plate, pretending to eat. Cillian kicks his chair. He makes dragon noises as he plays with his fork.

"Stop," she says, "Or you're sitting between Mamae and Papa."

He pouts. He kicks Varric's chair again and she is surprised Varric hasn't said anything. He barely seems to have noticed.

His eyes are blood shot. He looks like he's been up all night. He looks like he's been crying. And Cillian is finding far too much amusement in kicking the damn chair. He does it again. It makes Varric lurch against the table, almost knocking over his milk.

"Cillian, come here," she says, "Bring your plate. We don't kick, not people, not chairs, not at all."

He sinks down in his chair. He tries to make himself small.

"I'm going to count to three," she says, "One."

Reluctantly, he picks up his plate. She gives him her chair and moves the one he was sitting in to the other side of him. He sits. He stops kicking the chairs. He eats, but not quietly. 

Varric doesn't care.

"What's wrong, Varric?" Fenris asks.

"Nothing," he says.

She hopes he isn't coming down with something. He would be fine with Fenris, but she wouldn't want to leave him. Mahanon finishes his breakfast and washes his own plate. He takes Neria's when she finishes and washes hers too. 

Neria disappears again. Furious again.

Ellana touches Varric's forehead, his cheeks. He doesn't feel warm. But he cries. He tries not to, he does. But a tear slips down his cheek, first one and then another, and soon he is sobbing. Cillian kicks the table. He almost knocks over his glass.

"Stop," Fenris says, turning to Cillian.

"What's the matter, love?" she asks Varric.

He shakes his head. He stares at his plate. He wipes his nose on his sleeve.

"I don't want you to go," he says, finally, but his voice is barely a whisper.

"Oh, honey, I'll only be gone a little while," she says, "We'll be back long before dinner."

But it makes it worse. He doesn't believe her and she doesn't know why. She has left him with Niala before, with Fenris, with Merrill, and he has never reacted like this. He has not been this upset since he was a baby. 

This is strange.

"He doesn't want the bad man to get you, Mamae," Cillian says. He tries to take a drink of his milk and spills a fair amount of it down his shirt. 

"What bad man? No one's going to get me," she says, "Varric, is this true?"

"Nera said the bad man wants to take Mamae away again," Cillian says, "And Manon. You get eated up and then he comes to get us too."

Oh. Of course, she thinks. That's what this is about. And now she knows. Neria has heard something she shouldn't have---she doesn't know from where or from whom, but she has misunderstood. This is why she has seemed so angry. She isn't really. She is afraid.

"There is no bad man," Fenris says, "Your mother will be fine. She and Mahanon are going to visit a friend---"

Mahanon puts the cup he's washing down just a little too hard. He turns, his eyes flashing.

"He's not a friend, he's my father," he says, "He's not a bad man. Just because she doesn't want to meet him---"

"Mahanon," she says. Because she is horrified. 

"Don't," Fenris says, "It's fine."

But it isn't. He looks like he's been slapped across the face. He looks away. He busies himself devouring the last of his food. He snaps at Cillian when he kicks his chair again. Cillian cries. Aveline cries, she throws her food. It is a mess. Fenris has been his father for twelve years. It is hard for him to hear him call another man father. 

Mahanon starts to go down the hall, to Neria's room. Ellana can't handle a fight like this today. She can't handle any more of this. She calls him back. She tells him to please sit down and wait. They are going to leave soon.

She will have to talk to Neria about this. She will have to explain.

She counts to ten and when her breathing slows, she hugs Varric. She kisses his cheek.

"There is no bad man, da'len, I promise," she says, "We're coming home."

He tries to calm, but it is a losing battle. In the end, she gets him settled with a book and a cup of hot cocoa. She talks to Cillian. She gets him distracted with his blocks. She gives Fenris a moment to push past his hurt. And she tries to get Aveline to laughing again, but she has another tooth coming in. She is not in the mood for comfort. She fusses. She wants Neria.

But Neria is shut up in her room, refusing to talk. She hears her crying when she knocks, but Neria tells her to go away. She doesn't want company---she doesn't want anyone to see her like this. Ellana gives up, but they will have to talk at length when she returns.

Mahanon is pacing, impatiently, by the eluvian. He has lost some of his anger but not enough.

"Can we go now?" he asks.

She wishes she could say no, but she nods. It is time.


	45. After Falon'Din: The Meeting Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mahanon and Solas meet.

When Abelas tells him the boy wants to meet him, he is terrified. he says no. He just can't. This body has done so much evil, he can't be allowed near Ellana again, or her children. It is his fault. He can only cause them more pain.

But Abelas holds his gaze. He is steady. He is so very calm.

How can he be?

"Ellana wishes to see you," he says.

And it is as if the whole world stops. 

"Why?" Solas asks, "How could she possibly?" He can't see her again. He can't look at her face. He can't hear her voice.

"It is important to the boy," Abelas says, "He is still young. A rejection will hurt him far more than it will you."

Of course. He hadn't thought of it like that. He can't say no. He can't refuse when he owes them so much. 

"You are not to blame for Falon'Din's evil," Abelas says again, "I imagine Ellana would tell you the same."

It is the same thing Abelas always tells him. But he is wrong. He is to blame. He knows.

"I will meet with her then," Solas says, "And the boy if she allows it." And his stomach hurts. It hurts worse than it ever has.

Abelas nods, but Solas can't tell if he is pleased or not. His face is always so blank.

 

When he sees her, it is worse than he thought it would be. She is the same. And he can not breathe. He has dreamed of that face every night since he regained control. He has not seen her smile. He has wanted to. He doesn't want to admit there is more to the ache in his heart than just regret. 

He still loves her. Even now. 

She looks at him as if he's a poisonous spider. She looks at him as if she's afraid.

This was a mistake, he thinks. 

They talk. It hurts. But she tells him he isn't to blame. She tells him none of this is his fault. Even now, she is still far too generous. She is trying to ease his pain when he has earned all of it. 

She wants him to meet Mahanon. She trusts him. She shouldn't. 

And it is all he can do to keep his hands steady. He agrees because what can he say after that? How can he convince her she's made a mistake?

Abelas is pleased. He can see it when she finally leaves.

"You will be fine," he says. But he is wrong.

 

He changes his shirt six times. He doesn't want to wear anything Falon'Din would have worn. But everything is the wrong color. It's cut wrong. It's the wrong style. 

Finally, he finds one of his old sweaters in the bottom of his trunk. He shakes it out and it is what he would have worn before everything went wrong. It is old, worn, but it is his. He remembers.

When he pulls it on, he feels almost like himself again. 

But the feeling is fleeting. He sits. He waits for Abelas to return with Ellana and Mahanon and he thinks he should disappear. He should go through one of the other eluvians and pretend none of this is happening. He can't move though. He wants to but he is frozen in his seat.

He hears footsteps. 

He sees Abelas.

He sees _her._

He sees Mahanon.

The world seems to stop again. The boy is so like her it hurts. But he has his eyes. He has his smile. And he is afraid, hesitant. He is unsure of himself.

Ellana nudges him forward.

"I'm going to sit with Abelas for a while," she says, "I'll be just over here if you need me."

She sees Solas' terror. She smiles and he thinks it is meant to be encouraging. But it isn't. It isn't.

"I am Solas," he says, when she moves away, when she puts her back to them, "I'm glad to finally meet you."

Mahanon smiles. He sits. He looks like he's going to be ill. Solas knows the feeling all too well. 

Ellana sits with Abelas. She is just close enough she can see them, hear them, if something goes wrong.

"Mamae said you were sick," he says, "But you're better now. Is that why---is that---" His voice trails off. He looks uncomfortable. He fidgets. 

"I was ill for a very long time," Solas says. He isn't sure what else to say.

"Is that why you didn't see us?" he asks.

Oh. 

"Yes," Solas says, "I was in no condition to---I didn't have visitors. I never stopped thinking of you." It seems to be the right thing to say. The boy relaxes. 

"Why were you sick? She wouldn't say," he says.

He can not tell him about Falon'Din. He can't speak of it and he wouldn't, even if she hadn't told him not to.

"It is...complicated," he says.

Mahanon looks hurt. He slumps. He stares at the table. It is like looking at Ellana when he told her the vallaslin were slave markings. It is like that all over again.

"A very bad person hurt me," he says, "He made me do terrible things. Your mother saved me, but I was broken. I couldn't move past what had happened. So Abelas brought me here. It took time, but I was able to heal."

Mahanon looks over his shoulder. Just once. Very quick. When he looks back at Solas, he leans forward. He drops his voice.

"Falon'Din?" he asks, but he sounds surprised. He whispers. And he shoots another glance over his shoulder at Ellana, like he's not supposed to be talking about him. Solas can't breathe for a moment.

"Your mother said you didn't know about him," he says.

"We're not supposed to," he says, "Neria said---I thought she made him up because she was mad. She didn't want me to meet you."

Solas doesn't want to admit it hurts, but it does. 

"This is something I don't think we should discuss," Solas says. But he will have to tell Ellana. If Neria knows, if she has been told the truth, she must be terrified. She is far too young.

She must be so ashamed to have a father like this. It must hurt her.

"Your mother said you enjoy building things," Solas says, he tries to steer the conversation away, "She said you and your father are working on new shelves for the kitchen?"

He thinks Mahanon will be glad to talk about it, but he looks as if he's just been struck. He tries to rally. He tries to hide it, but he does a poor job of it. Somehow, Solas has stumbled onto a sore spot.

"Yes," Mahanon says, "Sometimes. When he has time to help me." He picks at his fingers. 

Solas is confused.  
"I always thought it takes quite a bit of skill to make something like that," he says, "What else have you made?"

Mahanon shrugs. 

"Toy box for the babies," he says, "A bird feeder for Mamae. It's dumb."

He doesn't want to talk about it. That much is clear. Solas scrambles to find a new topic. Something safe. Anything else.

"It isn't dumb. It is an important skill. What---what else do you enjoy?" he asks. And he could kick himself because he sounds so stiff. He sounds ridiculous.

"I don't know."

"Are you alright?" he asks.

Mahanon makes the same face Ellana makes when she's pretending everything is fine. The smile he gives is tight, it is too tense. His shoulders go painfully stiff. And he doesn't offer up any new topic for conversation. He stares at Solas, expectantly, as if he knows the right things to say. As if he even could.

Solas is letting him down again somehow. He is failing.

"I was..surprised when Abelas told me you wanted to meet me. I never thought I would have the chance," he says, "And I am grateful. Tell me about yourself. I want to know who you are."

Some of the tension eases from his face.

Mahanon talks. Slowly at first. Haltingly. But eventually, he is jumping from topic to topic at a dizzying pace. He is hard to follow, but what Solas does understand, makes him proud. He is so very smart. He is kind. He is very much his mother's son.

And Solas knows how lucky he is to meet him.

Mahanon talks a lot about Neria. He goes back to Falon'Din. He keeps sneaking him back in to the conversation. There is no way to truly avoid it.

"Who told her about him?" Solas asks.

"No one," Mahanon says, "She watched him in the Fade."

She couldn't have, Solas thinks, when the shock of it wears off. Falon'Din was destroyed. She must have seen a memory. She has gone searching through things she is not prepared to see. And Solas wonders. She could be a dreamer like him. 

He will have to speak to Ellana about that possibility too. He does not look forward to it.

"Neria sees a lot of weird stuff in the Fade," Mahanon says, "It's not special."

And the conversation turns sour again. He picks at his fingers again. 

Solas is exhausted. His hands are starting to shake. He has to hide them under the table. He has to pretend he is fine.

But the worst of it comes toward the end. Mahanon asks if he can call him Father---the boy looks him in the eye, his jaw set in a hard line. He sounds angry when he asks, but he does ask. He waits. He stares. Solas doesn't know what to say.

"You may if you wish," he says at last.

"I do," Mahanon says.

"Have you spoken with your parents about it?" Solas asks.

"Why?" he asks.

"You have a father," Solas says, "It may hurt him to hear you call me that."

Mahanon's face is like a storm cloud. Dark. So very dark. 

"Papa won't care," he says. But Solas doubts that very much.

There are a few minutes more of awkward conversation before Ellana stands. She drifts closer. She pauses. She waits for Mahanon to finish talking.

"I'm sorry to interrupt. We need to head back," she says. Solas stands. Mahanon stands, his expression going curiously blank. 

"May I speak with you for a moment?" Solas asks.

She looks apprehensive. She hesitates again and he can't blame her.

But she nods. She sends Mahanon on ahead with Abelas. And Solas is painfully aware of the silence.

"Are you alright?" she asks.

No, he isn't, but she doesn't need to know that.

"We need to discuss Neria," he says.

She looks concerned but she sits. She listens. He wants to touch her hand. He wants to hold it, but he doesn't. He doesn't have the right anymore. 

He tells her everything.


	46. After Falon'Din: The Meeting Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home is chaos.

Mahanon is quiet but she thinks he is pleased. She is not pleased, however, she is far from it. She had thought she had done a fair job of shielding them from the truth of Falon'Din. Now, she knows she was wrong.

She will have to speak to the both of them.

She doesn't want to. Gods but she doesn't want to.

Cillian throws his arms around her waist when she clears the eluvian. The force of it almost knocks her back through. But Fenris is a half step behind him, hauling him back. 

"You aren't supposed to be in here," he says. It is a rule made specifically for Cillian. He can not be trusted around the eluvian. 

"How did it go?" Fenris asks.

"He's nice," Mahanon says.

Disapproval flickers across Fenris' face but he doesn't contradict him. 

"It went well," she says. For the most part.

"I'm glad you had a nice time, " he says at last, turning to Mahanon, "I have some time. When Cillian goes down for his nap, we can work on the cabinets if you'd like." And Cillian makes a rude noise. He pulls on Fenris' arm. He tries to pull him down to his level. He tries to get his arms around his neck to make him pick him up. But Fenris stands a little taller. 

Mahanon seems to think it over. She almost think he's going to say no, and that would be a first. He is always eager to spend time alone working with Fenris, away from the little ones. She is surprised when he hesitates. But he does say yes. He smiles. He can't hide his excitement. It has been a while since they worked on anything together. They have had their hands full with Cillian and Aveline.

The kids disperse, leaving her alone with her thoughts for once. Cillian goes down, reluctantly, for his nap. Fenris and Mahanon work on their cabinets. And when Varric lingers, watching, they give him a rag and task him with "cleaning" the newly polished doors and metal handles. It holds his attention for all of two minutes, but he is pleased to be included.

She tries to make tea.

She is waiting for the water to boil when Fenris surprises her. He comes up behind her. He gets his arms around her middle. He kisses her jaw.

"Now that we're alone, how did it really go?" he asks.

"Terrible," she says. 

He kisses her neck. She sighs. She shuts her eyes. She leans back.

"What happened?" he asks, his hands drift higher, to the spot just below her breasts. It makes thinking...difficult. 

"We have to have a discussion with Neria and Mahanon about...him," she says, "Falon'Din."

Fenris goes tense. She can feel the vibration of his anger, thrumming just under his skin.

"What did he tell him?" Fenris asks.

"Nothing. They already knew," she says, "Mahanon told Solas Neria saw Falon'Din in the Fade." Fenris breath comes out in a rush. He loosens his hold, his hands moving back down to her hips. He presses his lips to her cheek and just keeps them there.

"She could be a Dreamer," she says, "Just like Solas. She probably is. It would explain everything."

"It will be fine," he says, but he doesn't sound like he means it.

Things aren't going to be fine. She doesn't know how it could be. The things Neria could have stumbled upon in the Fade, the memories she could have seen...she knows how bad it could be. It would have hurt her. 

"No wonder she's been so angry," Ellana says, "I don't know how to fix this."

The water starts to boil. She makes her tea. She sets it to steep. And Fenris is so terribly quiet.

She wishes Cole was here to help with this---he and Neria get along so well. He would know the best approach. She doesn't want to say the wrong thing. And she feels terrible. She is afraid to speak to her own daughter.

"Do you want to try to talk to them tonight?" he asks.

"We should," she says.

But where do they even start?

 

She hears shouting. Neria again. Mahanon again. She looks at Fenris and he sighs. So much for gathering their thoughts first, she thinks. She takes a drink and sets the cup back on the table.

"He's nice," Mahanon says.

"What's wrong with you?" Neria shouts.

They round the corner just in time to see her reach for one of her books. She picks it up as if she means to throw it at him.

But she stops when she realizes they aren't alone.

Mahanon is red faced, his fists clenched at his sides. 

"Did you know?" Neria asks, "Did you tell him he could?"

She sounds disgusted, worse than furious, but she looks at Fenris. 

"Did we know what?" Fenris asks.

"He wants to call him Father," she says.

Fenris looks like he's been struck. He takes a step back and it is clear he was not expecting that. Ellana wasn't either. Solas only talked about Neria and what she told Mahanon she saw in the Fade. He didn't mention anything like this.

"That's his business then," Fenris says, but he sounds hurt. 

Neria disagrees. Mightily. 

"He's not our father," she says.

"You don't even know him," Mahanon says, his voice rising. They are going to get Aveline to screaming. They are going to have Cillian running wild. And Varric is going to come to try to help. He has no business listening to this. None of them do.

"I know him better than you do," Neria says.

"Let's calm down," Ellana says.

"You should tell him," Neria says, "Tell him I'm right."

"Stop lying!"

"Lower your voices," Fenris says.

"I'm not lying! He hurt Mamae. And he hurt Papa's eye. He put his finger all the way through," she says, and she is not supposed to know that. It makes Ellana's stomach twist. It makes her go cold. Ellana had hoped they were too young to remember when Merrill healed Fenris' eye. 

"I don't know why you even want to see him. You shouldn't let him." Neria says the last part to Ellana. She rounds on her, eyes flashing. Her hands clench. She looks like she wants to hit her. 

"Enough," Ellana says, "We'll talk about this without yelling. Unless you want Cillian and Varric to join us and I think that would be a mistake."

They both shut their mouths but they don't look pleased about it. And Ellana can't stop shaking. She feels Fenris' hand on the small of her back, but it doesn't help. It doesn't make her feel any better. Neria saw what Falon'Din did to his eye. She saw what Falon'Din did to _her_.

"I don't want him in my room," Neria says. She picks up the book again. She looks at Mahanon like she's going to throw it.

Mahanon bristles.

"To the Kitchen," Fenris says, "Quietly." He steps aside. He points. He waits, his expression severe.

"I don't want to talk about this," Neria says.

"Well, that's unfortunate because we're going to. Now," Fenris says.

They have no choice. Neria is hurting and now, so is Mahanon. Whatever she saw, it needs to be explained. It needs to be softened. It needs to be changed. She doesn't know how or even if its possible, but they have to try. 

"We've talked about spirits and possession before, do you remember?" Ellana says. They sit at the table. Neria pulls her legs up and sits with her arms around her knees. She glares at Mahanon. She leans away. 

But Mahanon won't look at her at all. He stares at the table top. He picks at his fingers. 

Ellana tries to explain Falon'Din. She tries to explain what happened to Solas, leaving out what she can, leaving out the worst of it, but about halfway through, she is stopped by the look on Mahanon's face. 

He is devastated. He is going to cry. And Neria just looks angrier and angrier. 

"It wasn't his fault," Ellana tries. It was Falon'Din. Solas was trapped inside, listening, watching, unable to act. He wouldn't have allowed anything to happen if he could have stopped it.

But he did destroy the world. She can't deny that. He cost the humans their lives. He destroyed the Qunari. And the Dwarves. All of them are gone because he wanted to restore magic and immortality to the elves.

She can not soften the blow and Neria refuses to let it go.

"Are you happy now?" Mahanon asks, he turns to Neria, "You win. He's a monster. You win. " He is crying now. He gets up from the table and he runs to his room. He slams the door.

That went about as poorly as it could, she thinks.

"I wish he was dead," Neria says.

"Neria!"

"Not Mahanon. Solas. I hate him. He's not my father," she says, "He's not Mahanon's father. Papa is."

And now she's crying too. Sobbing. She hides her eyes behind her palms and shakes and Ellana wants to take it all back. 

"I'm sorry, love," she says. She hugs her. She lets her cry on her shoulder.

"I hate him," Neria says. Over and over again. And Ellana is crying too. How could she not?

"I'll try to talk to Mahanon," Fenris says. But he stops beside them. He touches the back of Neria's head.

"Solas' choices were his own. Nothing that happened is your fault," he says, "You are my daughter and I love you. Never doubt that." 

But it makes her cry harder.

He kisses the side of her head. He gets up. He goes to check on Mahanon. And Ellana is stuck struggling for words.

"Sometimes, the Fade can be confusing," she tries, but she knows even as she says it how weak she sounds.

"I know what I saw!"

"What did you see?" she asks.

Neria falls silent. She doesn't want to talk. She doesn't want to tell her. She shakes. 

"Never mind, love, it's alright," Ellana says, "It's alright." She should not have asked.

"He was possessed. He wasn't able to do anything but watch," Ellana continues, "The man you saw was Falon'Din and he is gone for good. It was never Solas."

"I don't care," she says.

"We're safe," Ellana says.

"I don't care," Neria says. She almost shouts it. Ellana lets it go. Now is not the time.

 

It is late before Neria and Mahanon are calm enough to sleep. It is even later before Ellana and Fenris can turn in for the night. The house is a mess. 

Ellana thinks it was a colossal failure. She said everything wrong and now she is going to have to ask Cole to help explain what they bungled. It might be easier for Neria to hear if it comes from him. He is removed enough from the situation. He is closer to an impartial party.

Fenris tosses his shirt into the basket. He strips out of his pants and he crawls into bed, naked under the blankets. She feels the smooth slide of his skin, his warmth. He leans against her. He kisses her throat.

"I would very much like to forget this evening," he says, his voice low in her ear.

He trails his fingers along her thighs, under her night shirt. He makes her shiver. When she shifts to give him better access, he slips the shirt over her head. He tosses it somewhere behind him.

She would like to forget the evening too. She would like to pretend it never happened.

"Please," she says.

She loves the way his hands feel, the way he finds every sensitive spot with just a touch. He knows her body so well. He knows what she needs. He always does.

She slides her fingers through his hair. She kisses his ear---

Someone screams.

They both jerk, knocking heads. The pain is sharp. Fenris curses, holds his nose. 

She hears the scream again. Dimly, she thinks it's Neria. It must be. But she isn't sure. Fenris is already throwing on clothes. He retrieves her night shirt and tosses it to her. She almost falls out of bed trying to get it on, trying to find her smalls.

But Neria isn't the one screaming. She stands in the doorway of her room, her face pale, her eyes round and wide. She stares down the hall, to the source.

The screams aren't hers. They're Mahanon's. Ellana hears Varric stirring. She hears Cillian. It is a miracle Aveline is still sleeping soundly. And if they don't wake Mahanon soon, she will hear him.

The screaming stops when Fenris opens his door. Ellana is a half step behind---she sees Mahanon jolt, his face tear stained and red. He looks horrified when he sees Fenris. He looks embarrassed.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

Mahanon mumbles something under his breath. She can't hear but Fenris does. He steps back. He makes room for her in the doorway.

She hears footsteps behind. She sees Varric with Cillian trailing close behind. They are disoriented. They are afraid.

"It's alright, go back to bed," she says. She starts to go to Cillian, but Fenris stops her.

"Let me," he says, and then he lowers his voice, smiles, "He wants you."

Oh.

"Come on, back in bed," Fenris says. Varric turns, shuffles sleepily back. Cillian stumbles, tripping over his feet. Fenris picks him up. 

Mahanon brings his knees up almost to his chest. He doesn't look at her when she sits beside him.

"Want to talk about it?" she asks.

"It's just a bad dream," he says. But he sounds unsure. His voice breaks. His eyes are watery. He lets her smooth the hair back from his forehead and she is reminded he is very much still her baby. As grown as he is, as old as he is getting.

"Sometimes it helps," she says. She smiles.

He shakes his head. He goes quiet. And he wears the look that says he is done talking. She knows better than to push.

"Very well, da'len. If you change your mind," she says.

But when she kisses his cheek, when she stands, he starts to cry. He tries to hide it. He turns his face away, but she sees the shine of tears all the same. She sits back down. She hugs him. 

"If this is about earlier, Solas has made some terrible choices," she says, "I know how it sounded. But he is a good man. He would never hurt us. And he is so happy to have the chance to know you. He told me himself, meeting you was the greatest gift he could receive." She doesn't let herself think about the end of the world again. Because he would have let her die once. He would have. 

But he would never have harmed Mahanon or Neria. She knows that much.

Something in Mahanon breaks. He buries his face against her neck. He cries.

She holds him until he stops, and she hates that he is hurting. She feels helpless. She doesn't know how to fix it. She thinks she should have tried harder to lie. Maybe. 

She hears a noise---when she looks up, she sees Neria hovering. The expression on her face is terrible. She looks like she wants to cry too. 

"Go on back to bed, love, everything's fine," she says.

Neria hesitates, but then she goes. And she looks so very sad. Ellana will have to check on her when Mahanon's settled. 

She is so very tired.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?" she asks.

He lets the silence stretch, but when she thinks he isn't going to answer her, he does.

"Is Solas really my father?" he asks.

"Of course he is," she says.

"It's not Falon'Din?" he asks. It is a terrible question. She remembers how pleased Falon'Din was, holding Neria for the first time, how happy he was when Mahanon was born. She remembers Falon'Din's smile. She remembers the way he forced himself on her. She remembers the blood sigil's. All of it.

When Mahanon looks at her, he looks so very young. So desperate. So heart broken. How many nights will this haunt him, she wonders. She will never tell him what Falon'Din did. She will never tell him which man is responsible for his birth.

"No," she says, her voice firm, "He was never your father." It was Solas' body. It was Solas. Always.

"Falon'Din is dead and he is never coming back," she says.

But somehow, his presence is still felt. The ripples he caused, they will never truly go away. He left far too much pain in his wake. 

Mahanon lets her tuck him back in---a rare thing. He has grown so much in the last few years. He is always so quick to remind her he isn't a child. But this time, he is content to let her pretend he is. He seems to take comfort in it.

When she steps out into the hall, Neria is still there, waiting.

"I'm sorry, Mamae," Neria says.

"For what, da'len?" she asks.

She doesn't answer. She shrugs. She yawns.

"Go back to sleep, love. You haven't done anything wrong," Ellana says. Neria only told the truth as she knew it---she didn't want Mahanon to be hurt, fooled. Ellana knows, she wanted to keep them all safe. It wasn't her fault it only made things worse. She is too young for that burden.

"Will you..." Neria pauses. She shifts. She looks uncomfortable. Embarrassed. Ellana doesn't know what she wants at first, but then she makes a guess.

"Do you want me to tuck you in too?" she asks.

Neria nods.

So she does. Neria sniffles. She tells her some of the things she saw in the Fade and they are every bit as terrible as she thought. Solas was right. She is a Dreamer. Ellana doesn't know how to help---she doesn't know how to train her, teach her.

Solas does. But he can't teach her. Neria is too afraid of him. She is too traumatized by what she saw. Seeing Solas would make it worse.

They need Cole. 

Where ever he is.

"Good night, Neria, " she says, "Remember what we talked about. The next time you have one of these dreams, tell me. I'll try to help you make sense of it." And don't tell your brothers, she thinks, please.

Neria looks uncertain. It will take patience. It will take time before she feels comfortable enough to come to her. Maybe she never will, and Ellana hopes that isn't true. 

"Ok, Mamae," Neria says. She scrunches down under the blankets. She shuts her eyes. She tries to sleep, but Ellana is certain it will be some time before she can.

When Ellana shuts her door, Fenris is there, waiting. She nearly jumps out of her skin.

"I'm sorry," he says.

He smiles. He kisses her.

"Where were we?" she asks, she wants nothing more than to pick up exactly where they left off. She wants to feel him. She needs---

Aveline screams. She cries. Because of course, she does. Ellana rests her head on Fenris' chest for a moment. Then she pulls away. He kisses her forehead.

"Go lay down," he says, "I'll see to Aveline."

"You are wonderful," she says.

"Was there ever any doubt?"

And he grins. He does. 


	47. After Falon'Din: The Meeting Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neria wants to meet Solas.

Mahanon visits Solas once a month, without fail. They get along well enough, but Solas is hesitant. He is afraid to say the wrong thing, to make a mistake. He asks for advice. He listens. He is, perhaps, overly cautious.

Neria doesn't care. She doesn't want to meet him. She is sullen and moody when Mahanon goes. She snaps at everyone. She hides in her room.

But when she is sixteen, it changes. She doesn't want to see him, but then she does. All of a sudden, she is curious. All of a sudden, she wants to meet him. She wants to see him for herself instead of just through Fade memories.

"Are you sure?" Ellana asks.

Neria doesn't look sure, but she nods. She very quietly says yes. She says she doesn't want Fenris to know. And that gives Ellana pause.

"Why not?" she asks.

Neria looks at her like she has just asked the stupidest question.

"I don't want to hurt him," she says, simply, "It was bad with Mahanon. I don't want him to think I'm trying to replace him."

"He won't think that," she says.

It has taken time, but Fenris has gotten used to the idea of Mahanon having a relationship with Solas. He doesn't like it, but he accepts it. He tries to understand. It does hurt. She sees it every time Mahanon goes through the Eluvian, every time he calls him Father.

"He'll say he doesn't, but it won't be true," Neria says.

Ellana thinks about it. 

"It will hurt worse if we don't tell him," Ellana says, "Don't you think?" She knows it will. Fenris will think it's because they don't trust him. He will think it's because he hasn't been the father they wanted, they needed. He will think he is lacking somehow. He already has his doubts. He worries.

Neria sighs. 

"I suppose so," she says, "Probably."

"Talk to him, first," Ellana says, "Ask him what he thinks. Give him a chance."

She knows Fenris well enough by now to know he won't discourage her. He will bite his tongue, he will tell her to do what she thinks is best. Mahanon's visits have gone well enough and Abelas is always there. Solas isn't going to hurt them.

"We can talk to him together, if you'd like," she says, "Or I can speak to him alone."

Neria looks like she's going to say yes, but she doesn't. She slumps a little, shakes her head.

"I'll think about it," she says.

But she looks like the thought makes her ill. Ellana doesn't want to keep secrets from Fenris, but maybe in this case, she should make an exception. Maybe Neria's need for privacy should come first. She doesn't know. 

"I think, in this instance," she says, "If you'd rather wait to tell him, we can wait." She hears the doubt in her voice. She sees it on Neria's face. Gods why couldn't this be simpler?

But Neria does broach the subject with him later. It goes as Ellana expected. He is calm. He listens. He accepts it.

He gives Neria a hug and tells her it will be fine. But neither of them believe he means it. He is a terrible liar. Even when he smiles, they can see it.

 

Mahanon is not pleased. Ellana is surprised when he protests. He doesn't want Neria to meet Solas. He doesn't think it's fair. He is seething. Furious.

"Every time I visit him, you give me the cold shoulder," he says, he yells at Neria, "You treat me like shit. You won't even let me talk about him."

"You hate him," he continues, "Why would you even want to meet him?" 

"That's my business," she snaps.

"How convenient!" he says, "You only want to meet him because I have." His expression darkens. He scowls. He picks at his fingers, tears off a hangnail. He makes himself bleed.

"You want to ruin it for me," he says. 

"That's enough," Ellana says, because this is terrible. Their fights are terrible.

Cillian has gone quiet during the exchange. He slips away, probably to his room---Ellana hopes that's where he's going. And Varric is hovering in the doorway. He looks like he's going to intervene again. He usually does when Neria and Mahanon are fighting. And it makes it worse. 

Aveline is sitting under the table with a stack of papers, an inkwell, and a quill. She draws. She hums. The tip of her braid is dripping ink. She has dunked it in the inkwell and used it like a brush. Again. 

"Shut up," she says, when Mahanon's voice rises.

"Mind your own business, squirt," Mahanon says.

"Stop. Talking," she says. 

"Don't be a brat," he says, "Don't tell me what to do." 

Aveline growls at him, her head down but her eyes fixed on his face. 

"I think we've had enough of this argument," Ellana says, "If your sister wants to meet Solas, she can. It's not up to you. Aveline, don't tell your brother to shut up. It's rude. Mahanon, don't call your sister names." Already, her patience is wearing thin. 

"How is any of this fair?" Mahanon asks. He is almost shouting again. Aveline is glaring, she looks like she wants to throw the inkwell at him---but god help her if she does. Ellana has had enough. 

"This is why I didn't want to talk about it," Neria says, "Because of this."

"Because I'm right," Mahanon says, "And you know it."

And Aveline screams at the top of her lungs. She holds it until Mahanon stops talking. She bangs her fist on the floor and smears on the paper.

"Aveline, that's enough, stop," Ellana snaps. She hears footsteps running. She sees Fenris poke his head in, concerned. And Aveline stops.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

He looks at Aveline under the table and he knows.

"They're fighting," Aveline says. She goes back to drawing and it is as if she wasn't just screaming at the top of her lungs.

"And you thought you'd contribute," Ellana says, "I don't want to hear you screaming like that again. We only scream when there's danger, not because we're angry." And they have discussed this how many times? She really should send her to her room. If she thought it would make a difference, she would. 

Aveline doesn't really care. Most punishments just seem to roll right off her back. 

"Who's fighting?" Fenris asks.

Varric slips away and Mahanon goes quiet. His face is stormy, he is still so furious. Neria isn't much better. 

"Manon and Neria," Aveline says, not missing a beat, "They're too loud."

She dips her hair in the inkwell again and draws clouds with it. That is another thing they've discussed many times before---using her hair like a paintbrush. She doesn't listen. She does her own thing regardless. She makes a mess.

Ellana has a headache.

"It's about Solas," Ellana says, and Fenris goes tense. He regrets joining the conversation.

"It's not important," Neria says, "Can we just forget it?"

"No," Mahanon says, "We can't. You don't get to say terrible things about him and then expect to meet him."

"It's not up to you," Neria says, she clenches her fists, "Just leave me alone." She looks like she's going to hit him. She looks like she wants to.

"You can't---"

"Enough," Fenris says.

"But---"

"I said, enough," he repeats, "This is not open for discussion. It has been decided."

"You never take my side," Mahanon mutters. And that is a lie. 

He goes to his room. He shuts the door a little more forcefully than he should, but he doesn't slam it---not after the last time. No doubt he doesn't want another long discussion.

Aveline puts another picture aside and pulls a fresh piece of paper from the pile. She starts again. She hums. 

 

Neria doesn't want to meet Solas alone. Ellana is surprised when she asks her to sit with them. Solas is nervous as well, but he relaxes when she agrees. 

Neria doesn't really talk. She stares at him. She makes him draw her out. She makes him fill the silence. She answers bluntly, with as few words as possible. She wants to be here, but clearly, she doesn't.

It is exhausting.

Solas takes it in stride. Still it is a shock when Neria finally asks him a question, when she works up her courage.

Ellana almost wishes she had stayed quiet.

"How can you sleep at night?" Neria asks.

Ellana feels the first warning tremors. She thinks she knows where this will go and she doesn't like it, doesn't want to be here for it. She thinks Solas knows too. She thinks that's what the weary look in his eyes means.

Neria's expression is curiously blank. Dangerously blank.

"All those people you killed, does it even bother you?" Neria asks, "Do you even care?"

Oh. Oh no, Ellana thinks. 

"I don't sleep much," he says, "I think about the pain I've caused. I think about the people who died because of my mistakes. I feel the weight of my actions and I have to live with it. Every day is a struggle."

But Neria is unimpressed. She is angry. She has been for years. Ellana can hear it in her voice. She can see it in her face.

"Do you have any idea what it's like, knowing I'm your daughter?" she asks, "Do you know what it's like to have people whisper about you when they find out who your father is? Everyone knows what you did. Everyone." Ellana hadn't realized it was that bad. She hadn't thought---

"Do you even care?" Neria asks, "Mahanon and I wouldn't even be here if you weren't a rapist."

He looks like he's just been struck, and she can't blame him. He isn't Falon'Din. He didn't hurt her. He wouldn't do that. Never. He would never. Ellana grips the edge of the table. She thinks she's going to be sick.

"Neria, no. Solas isn't---," Ellana says, tries to say, but Neria isn't listening.

"It's his fault," Neria says, "All of it."

"Neria," she tries, "No."

But Solas intervenes. He touches her arm. And he looks so very tired.

"It's alright, Ellana, it's nothing I haven't told myself before," he says, "I care, Neria. I care very much. A great deal of what happened to your mother is my fault. You are right."

Neria stares at him. She breathes. She glares. There is no denying this can not be salvaged today.

"I think we should go," Ellana says. Because she is going to be sick. This was a mistake. It hurts.

"I'm not finished," Neria says.

"It's alright," Solas says, "I think she should be allowed to finish."

But Ellana doesn't want to be here for it. She doesn't want to hear this. Any of it. It has been almost sixteen years and the thought of him still makes her skin crawl. It makes her angry. 

And Neria won't look at her. She is seething. She is hurting. Knowing what Falon'Din did is too great a burden.

"Please, Ellana," Solas says, "Let her speak."

She is outvoted. She deflates a little. She lets out a long breath. 

"Very well, but keep it civil," she says, "I can't handle the shouting."

Neria is far braver than she ever was. The accusations tumble out of her mouth, one after another. All of his crimes, Falon'Din's and Solas', both. And the more she talks, the angrier she seems to be. Her face gets redder and redder. She tenses up. And Solas looks devastated. 

He accepts the blame. All of it.

It makes Ellana angry because he doesn't own all of the blame. He can't take credit for it. Ellana remembers all too well how Falon'Din took control. She remembers her part in it.

Neria doesn't care. She won't hear it. And Solas is no better. He waves away her guilt like he has the right. 

"Don't lie for him," Neria snaps, "You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't hurt anyone."

Ellana is shaking. She has had enough.

She stands. She pushes her chair back and Neria looks up, startled.

"We're going," she says.

Neria starts to protest again. Solas tries to interject---as if he hasn't heard enough. But Ellana cuts them both off.

"No," she says, "I can't listen to any more." She will be sick. She can feel it. One more word of Falon'Din, just one, and she doesn't know what she'll do.

"It is alright to be angry with him, Neria, and it is alright, Solas, for you to feel ashamed, "she says, "But you don't get to bury yourself under crimes you didn't commit. You are not a rapist. He is not responsible for everything Falon'Din did."

They both disagree, but she doesn't care. They are done for the day. There will be no more discussion.

Neria goes through the eluvian first, furious. Of course. She is about to follow, but Solas stops her. He touches her arm. He pulls back just as fast. As if he didn't mean to.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"It's ok," she says.

"Is it?" he asks, "Are you...are you alright?" 

"I am," she says. No. She isn't. But she will be. Once she's home. Once she's with Fenris. Once she has a moment of quiet, if she can find it. If Cillian and Aveline will cooperate. But she doubts her luck. 

She tries to smile. She fails.

She does.

 

Fenris stops her when she steps out of the eluvian. He looks concerned. He must have seen Neria come rushing through. 

"What happened?" he asks.

"I don't know," she says, "It was terrible."

"What did he do?" 

She shakes her head. She can't blame this on Solas. She can't blame it on anyone. Not even Neria. Especially not Neria. 

"Nothing," she says, "She was angry. I couldn't listen to it. If she wants to go back, perhaps Cole would be willing to go with her. I don't think I can do this again."

Because clearly, she is the worst mother. She can't even do this one thing. She can't.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"No," she says. She doesn't want to cry. She is a grown woman. She was the Inquisitor. She defeated Falon'Din. She should not be reduced to tears by a conversation. 

But she feels it. This is a battle she is going to lose. She shakes and her face is hot. She cries and Fenris is quick to pull her into his arms. 

He kisses the top of her head. 

"What did she say?" Fenris asks.

"She wanted to talk about Falon'Din," she says, after she has a moment to calm herself, "She wanted answers. She wanted---I don't know. I wasn't expecting it."

She wonders if a part of him is glad it went so poorly. It isn't a fair thought, she knows, but it is there all the same. When she looks up, she feels worse. He looks terrible. He kisses her cheek. 

"I'm sorry it went poorly," he says,"Can I do anything?"

There is nothing he can do. She knows. She shakes her head. He laces his fingers through her hair. He works circles into her scalp. He digs at the worst of the tension. After a moment, she relaxes. Her tears subside. She sighs.

But it doesn't last. It never does. 

There is an ear piercing shriek. Aveline, she thinks, of course. It shatters the calm. And she hears Cillian shouting at her to stop. She hears Varric trying to help, trying to talk over it. She hears the chaos and she thinks she's going to start crying again.

"Aveline, stop," she says. She pitches her voice loud enough she can hear her. But Aveline doesn't stop. She hears Cillian---she hears him cursing, he shouts words he shouldn't even know. She hears Varric. None of them listen.

Fenris sighs.

"Fasta vass. All day," he says, "They've been at each others' throats all day."

"I'll handle it," he says. He kisses her again.

"No, I'll help. It's alright," she says. She steadies her voice. She steels herself for the next battle. 

"Are you sure?" he asks. She is. Aveline's shriek intensifies. It makes her ears hurt. It makes her bite down a little too hard, catching the inside of her cheek. 

"You take Cillian, and I'll handle Aveline," she says. Varric will stop when he sees they have it covered. She hopes he will. She hopes he doesn't decide now is the time to push his luck. 

She will have to talk to Neria. But she doesn't know what else she can say.


	48. After Falon'Din: The Meeting Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana tries to clear up a few things.

Solas is surprised at how much it hurts. There is so much venom, so much rage in Neria's words and Ellana is horrified. She shouldn't be, he thinks, because this is how it should be. No matter what anyone says, he knows who is responsible for Falon'Din. If he had left him to slumber in his prison, none of this would have happened.

Neria says everything Ellana won't say. She holds nothing back. 

She hates him. Truly.

He holds on until Ellana cuts the visit short. He holds on until there is only Abelas, and then he can't. He buries his face in his palms. He cries. He shakes.

He was selfish to allow Mahanon to see him as anything but a monster. 

 

Ellana knocks on Neria's door. There's no answer. She tries again. Louder. When she doesn't answer again, Ellana gives up. She opens the door. She braces herself for the protest.

It is quiet. 

Neria has her head cushioned on her arms. She stares at the wall. She doesn't acknowledge the intrusion.

"That was terrible," Ellana says, "You should have told me the real reason you wanted to meet him. You should have talked to me first."

It earns her a glare.

"What, so you could have stopped me?" Neria asks, "I have a right to say how I feel."

"That was more than just stating your feelings," Ellana says, "That was cruel."

But Neria doesn't care. She snorts. She shifts in her chair and hides her face.

"Neria, look at me please," Ellana says. She sits on Neria's bed. She leans forward. 

But Neria won't. She mutters into her arm and Ellana can't hear it but she doubts she'd like it if she did.

"If you're going to claim the right to state your feelings, you're going to have to listen to mine," Ellana says, "How do you think it made me feel to listen to that? You ambushed me. I wasn't prepared and it hurt. It hurt a lot. Do you think I wanted to be reminded like that?" She sees Neria stiffen as if she hadn't considered it.

"Neria, please, look at me," she says.

Finally, she does. Ellana thinks there's a bit of regret there, under the anger. 

"Solas isn't the one who hurt me. You are wrong," she says. She had thought it best to hold back when they first had this talk. Now she wonders if she made a mistake. Because Neria doesn't understand. 

"I know what I saw," Neria tries.

"In the Fade," Ellana says, "And the Fade is entirely reliable, yes? It never lies or twists things."

Neria doesn't answer. She looks away. She picks at her sleeve.

"I was there. I lived it," Ellana says, "I know what happened. I don't know why you won't believe me. If he did the things you think he did, I wouldn't defend him. I certainly wouldn't let Mahanon meet with him. Do you really believe I would? Do you really think so low of me?"

And there it is. She sees the moment Neria's doubt hits. Neria's eyes go wide and she finally looks at her. But it is not enough. She needs more. Ellana sighs. She sees now, she has no other choice.

She tells her about Solas, who he is, who he was. And she tells her about Falon'Din. She tells her everything. And in the end, she thinks Neria understands. She isn't sure but maybe she even cares a little.

"I'm sorry," Neria says, she looks miserable. Ellana doesn't know what else to say. She is drained.

"It's alright," Ellana says at last, and she hopes this will be the end of it. She doesn't want to rehash it, doesn't want to think about Falon'Din again. It is already so hard. He is always there, at the edges of her thoughts. 

Neria allows a quick hug. 

"I want to be alone now," she says, "Please" And there is no more anger. She has deflated. Ellana understands.

She shuts the door behind her as she leaves. She gives her time to think. 

 

Solas tries to send a message with Abelas. He can't meet with Mahanon. He can't see him again. It is for the boy's own good. 

Abelas disapproves. 

He argues. 

He yells at him. He actually does.

But Solas doesn't care. He does not deserve to know his son---Ellana's son, he corrects himself. He doesn't deserve to be called Father. All this time, he doesn't know how Ellana could stomach it. 

"Have you stopped to think how Mahanon will feel?" Abelas asks, "To abandon him now is cruel."

"He is better off---" Solas says.

"No," Abelas says, "You are letting guilt overwhelm you again. You will not make decisions based on emotion. Wait a week. Think it over, and if you come to the same conclusion, I will deliver the message."

Solas can not deny the logic in it. He is probably right. He usually is. 

But he doesn't get to wait a week. He doesn't get to think. Mahanon comes through the eluvian the next morning, very early, well before anyone normally would. Try as he might, Solas can't form the words to tell him to go. Of course, he can't. How could he? He looks at his face and he is lost.

"Does your mother know you're here?" he asks. The next thing out of the boy's mouth is going to be a lie. He can see it in the shift of his eyes. It is the same look Ellana gets. It is so familiar.

"Sure," Mahanon says.

"Have you at least had breakfast?" Solas asks.

He has not. 

Well.

Breakfast is something Solas can manage. Even if his hands are shaking, he thinks he can steady them enough. He thinks he can make himself breathe. He can focus.

"I could eat," Mahanon says, "Whatever you eat is good."

Solas doesn't eat much these days. He has gotten better about remembering meals, but he finds no pleasure in it. He skips breakfast more often than he eats it. But Mahanon can't skip breakfast. He is still growing. He is still young.

"Do you like eggs?" he asks.

"Sure," Mahanon says.

He is quiet until Solas opens the door to the pantry.

"Neria didn't say anything, did she?" he asks.

Solas stiffens. So that's what this is about, he thinks. He doesn't want to answer. Mahanon will not like it and he rarely censors his responses. He often doesn't think before he speaks. But neither does Neria, it seems. A family trait, perhaps.

"We talked," he says.

And Mahanon is far too perceptive. He is like his mother. He catches the tone Solas tries to hide. He knows what it means.

"Sorry," he says, "I told them they shouldn't let her come. She's been mad at you since we were little."

"Her anger is justified," Solas says, no matter what Ellana believes, it is, "I was not offended."

Mahanon snorts. He bubbles up with a bit of mean laughter. Solas doesn't understand.

"She doesn't like that I come here," he says, "She wanted to ruin it. That's all."

Oh. Well. 

"I doubt it's that simple," Solas says. He knows it isn't. 

"You don't know my sister," Mahanon says.

"I know enough."

There is silence. Solas fries a couple eggs. He puts them on a plate and sets them in front of Mahanon. He makes nothing for himself. He doubts he could eat if he wanted to. His stomach is twisted in knots. It hurts.

"Don't you want one?" Mahanon asks. His forehead wrinkles. 

"I don't often eat breakfast," Solas says.

Just like Abelas, Mahanon disapproves. He takes a plate from the cupboard. He slides the second egg onto it and hands it to him. Solas is too tired to argue. He gives in. He eats.

 

Ellana wakes early. She doesn't know why, but she relishes the quiet. She thinks she has another hour before Cillian and Aveline start to stir. 

She burrows into the blankets. She slips an arm around Fenris' waist. She kisses the back of his neck. His voice is muffled but she thinks she hears a good morning.

She kisses the spot just behind his ear, and when he shivers, she skims her hand down along the flat of his stomach. Lower. 

She circles the head of his cock with her thumb. She traces the slit before she curls her palm around him. He is already so firm, but he gets harder. She works her hand down along the length of him. 

He press back against her. His breath comes out a hiss. 

She moves a little, just enough to let him lay flat. 

"Good morning to you too," she says. She squeezes him. She kisses his chest, his stomach.

He cracks open an eye, he smiles.

"It's early," he says.

"A little," she says.

She kisses the tip. She runs her tongue around it, takes him in her mouth, and the sound he makes is beautiful. 

"I think that's how we got into this mess," he says after a moment, but he doesn't stop her. He runs his fingers through her hair. He arches his hips a little.

She takes him in deeper. She moves the way he wants her to, the way he likes. She quickens her pace, and she watches him. The way he throws his head back against the pillows, the way he shuts his eyes, the way his expression shifts from sleepiness to pleasure---it makes her warm. It makes her happy.

After a moment, he tugs her up. He kisses her mouth, his tongue moving, parting her lips, delving in to find hers. He gets her straddling him, his cock pressed between them. He rubs her clit. Just the right pace, just the way she needs.

But she doesn't need much this morning---it has been a while since they've had the time or the energy to do anything. She is ready now. She wants to feel him.

She presses him to her entrance and sinks down. She holds herself there for a moment. She savors the feel of him, the firm stretch. She savors the touch of his hand on her hip while the other works between her legs. 

She moves. She grinds against him. And then he's rolling her under him. He's kissing her, fucking her---he moves her legs up between them, pressing them almost flat to her chest, her feet in the air. Each thrust is rough and fast, but it is perfect. He is perfect.

The orgasm catches her by surprise. One moment, she's riding the build up and the next she's crashing. It's hitting her so hard she forgets she needs to be quiet. She hears her voice. She hears the wild sound she makes.

And it sends Fenris over the edge. He jerks. He curses. He pulls out, spilling on her, on the sheets.

He breathes as he sits back on his heels. His expression is a little sheepish.

"I wasn't quick enough," he says, "Do you have any of the tea left?"

Oh. 

"In the cupboard," she says. She thinks there's enough. If not, she can make a run to the city. She can pick some up. They will have to be more careful next time.

He sighs. He sinks down beside her. He presses his lips to her hand, her palm, her fingers. He kisses her wrist and she is laughing when she hears footsteps running in the hall. 

"Shit," she says. She grabs for the blankets, gets them up over them just as the door opens.

She expects to see Aveline, but it's Varric. He stops in the doorway when he sees the blankets pulled up to her chin.

"Are you naked?" he asks, horrified.

"Yes," Fenris says, "Knock next time, please."

"What do you need?" Ellana asks, because Varric never just rushes in. He is the quietest of the children. He is polite. He is the peacemaker. He is the careful one. 

And he looks worried now. 

"I heard a scream," Varric says, "And I can't find Mahanon."

Well, she isn't worried. She relaxes. Mahanon is either working on one of his projects or he's out for a walk. He could have gone into the city. He is old enough, it is allowed.

But he's supposed to tell them first. He doesn't usually leave this early. The sun isn't even up yet.

"Did you check the---" She means to suggest the work shop, but Varric cuts her off. He interrupts.

"I looked," Varric says, "I heard a scream---"

She feels her face heat. Yes. A scream. Well. She is not explaining that one.

"It's nothing to worry about," she says, "Mahanon has probably gone for a walk."

"But the scream---"

"That was your mother," Fenris says, "She was...surprised." She elbows him under the covers. He yelps. He rubs his side and leans away. And Varric looks skeptical.

"Why?" he asks, "What surprised her?"

"I did," Fenris says. She elbows him again. Stop. Talking. Please. She thinks he's going to laugh. His lips are starting to twitch.

He is not funny. They are not having this discussion.

"Varric, please close the door so I can get dressed," she says, "Go check on Cillian. Make sure he's still in bed."

Finally, he goes. He shuts the door and she sinks back down into the pillows. She covers her face with her hands. The mattress shifts. She feels Fenris' weight settle on top of her. He pries her hands away. He kisses her nose.

"It's not that bad," he says.

He is laughing.

"You're terrible this morning," she says.

"Yes, well," he says, "You have that effect on me." The way his voice rumbles low in her ear makes her belly twist. She feels a second rush of arousal. There is not enough time but she would have him again if she could.

She touches his cheek. She's going to tell him that, but she hears more footsteps. Probably Aveline. They are small and quick and she is probably going to fling open the door to ask for breakfast. Fenris rolls off her. He hurries to get his pants on. He only just makes it in time.

Aveline's hair is a mess. She hasn't tried to brush it because there is a giant knot of hair on the side of her head. There is a lot of dried ink at the ends. It will take a miracle to tame it. 

"Aveline, you're supposed to knock first," Ellana says. And Aveline blinks at her. She knocks on the door. She looks at them both like they're crazy.

"Can you make pancakes?" she asks.

Fenris retrieves one of his shirts from the closet. He pulls it over his head.

"I know how to make pancakes, yes," he says.

"I know you can," Aveline says, "I was asking for them."

"Probably not," Fenris says, "One can only make pancakes if they hear the right word. It's the law of pancakes. Do you know what that word is?"

"Papa," she says, she rolls her eyes, "Please."

"Very good," he says, "Yes, you can have pancakes for breakfast."

She runs back down the hall. She leaves the door wide open. Fenris shuts it himself. 

"It's going to be one of those mornings, isn't it?" she asks.

"And it started out so well," Fenris agrees.

She gets out of bed. She means to get dressed, but the sight of him standing there like that, the heat of his stare, it makes her want to kiss him again. She is going to.

But she hears the eluvian. She hears the sound of a door opening and closing. She hears footsteps. No one is supposed to go near the eluvian. They certainly shouldn't be opening the door to that room. Fenris is tense as he slips out to check.

Ellana throws a shirt and smalls, she scrambles into the pants she wore yesterday. She goes after him. 

She finds Mahanon. The eluvian goes dark and there is no denying he has just come through. The expression on his face says it all. 

"Where have you been?" Fenris asks.

"Out," he says, but under Fenris' stare, he withers, "I went to visit Father."

Oh. Fenris mumbles something and turns away. He heads toward the kitchen. She hears him rustling through the cupboards, probably to start breakfast. Mahanon stares after him, confusion flickering across his face.

"Why didn't you just say so?" Ellana asks, "You didn't have to sneak out. Don't do it again."

"Sorry," he says.

"Did he know you were coming, or did you just drop in?" she asks.

"Sorry," he snaps, "I wanted to know he was ok. I didn't think you'd let me."

She sighs. 

"When have I ever stopped you from seeing him?" she asks.

"I said I'm sorry, what more do you want?"

"Excuse me?" she asks. She snaps at him. Tired. So very tired of all the fighting. Why is everyone so angry, so touchy? When will this week end, she wonders. 

"Sorry," he says again, and she is glad his tone shifts. It's less snippy. It's almost genuine. 

It is the best she's going to get.

He goes to his room. Ellana finds Fenris in the Kitchen. He is standing, staring into one of the cupboards. She watches him for a moment. He doesn't move. 

"Are you alright?" she asks. 

"I am," he says, but she thinks he's lying, "Are you hungry?" 

"Not yet," she says. 

She slips her arms around him. She rests her head against his back. She feels the tension in his body. He was fine moments ago but now, he is wound so tightly, he feels like he's going to snap. 

"I think I'd rather go back to bed," she says, "Start the day over? Once Aveline has her pancakes."

"Can we?" he asks, his voice sounds rough, thick. 

"We can try," she says. 

But Fenris shakes his head. He reaches for the flour.

"it's alright," he says. He pretends. 

 

Solas doesn't expect to see Neria again, but when he ventures into the Fade, she finds him. It is on purpose, he realizes. She did not stumble upon him by accident.

He has seated himself where Wisdom used to dwell. Another of his failures. Another death caused ultimately by his hand. If he hadn't given Corypheus his orb, if the Veil hadn't split then, maybe the mages wouldn't have gone to the Exalted Plains. Maybe they wouldn't have encountered the bandits. Maybe they wouldn't have tried to summon Wisdom. 

She could tell him what to say. She could council him.

His friend. He misses her.

"I shouldn't have called you a rapist," Neria says after a long moment of silence, "Maybe I shouldn't have yelled at you like that.

"You're still a murder," she says.

He doesn't argue. He is too tired anyway.

"It has been hard for you," he says, "I am sorry."

"Stop apologizing," she snaps, "You don't mean it."

He looks at her. 

"You are a Dreamer, but you can't look into my thoughts. You don't know my heart and mind," he says, "I _am_ sorry. Whether you care to believe me or not, I am. You deserve better than to have a father such as I." He says it a bit sharper than he means to, but she stops. 

"Maybe," she says. There is no maybe about it. She doesn't know. She has no idea.

"You killed whole races of people, millions of people," she says, "If you didn't care about them, there's no way you give a damn about anything."

"I did care," he says, "Just not enough. I thought I could stop myself from ever creating the Veil. I thought I could save my People, and by extension, it would save everyone. That was all that mattered. I didn't care what the consequences might be. I was wrong. I failed. I destroyed most of the world." And it was a far worse mistake than the Veil. It was worse than Corypheus. He knows now. He understands.

"Your mother should have killed it me. It is what I deserve," he says.

Neria doesn't seem to know what to say to that. She doesn't expect it, and he wonders what she did expect. How was he supposed to be? How had she pictured him? He wonders if she was expecting something more like Falon'Din.

She probably was.

He doesn't want to talk about him. He truly doesn't. But that is why she is here, even if she doesn't realize it. It is what she needs to know.

"How much has Ellana told you of Falon'Din?" he asks. And he is surprised he is able to hold himself steady. 

"More than she wanted to," Neria says, "More than I wanted her to. Probably not enough."

"I've seen plenty," she adds.

"Would you like to see who he was before?" Solas asks, "Would you like to see his true face?"

He should not. Ellana would not appreciate it. But as long as Neria believes a part of him is Falon'Din, and he is certain she does, she will be angry. She will be afraid.

That is what her rage is. It is fear. He can see it now.

She hesitates. She looks at him like she regrets coming.

"You are safe, Neria," he says, "I only meant I could show you the memory. You are not the only Dreamer."

And now she is interested.

"I know, that," she says. She tries to hold on to her anger, but curiosity is getting the better of her.

"I'm not afraid," she insists, "Show me."

He doesn't want to show her. He doesn't want to see Falon'Din's face again. He doesn't want to watch his atrocities. Neria should never see them, but if she is to understand, if she is to move past this, perhaps she must.

He wishes Wisdom was here. He wishes he could talk to her. Ask her.

He pulls the memory from the Fade. He watches as his face appears, the sick curve of his smile, the glittering dark of his eyes. He can see now the void where his soul should have been.

Neria watches. She doesn't speak.

He shows her the sacrifices. He shows her the blood rituals. He shows her the slaves. He shows her everything.

And she is pale when it is over. She is wide eyed. Trembling.

Perhaps he has shown her too much, he thinks. Perhaps he has gone too far.

"You could be lying," she says. But he thinks he knows now. He thinks he can tell she believes him. He hears the break in her voice.

"You are a Dreamer," he says again, "Search the Fade. See for yourself."

She leaves and he is hit with another pang of regret. He doubts he will see her again.

But she does come back. It takes two weeks, but she finds him in the Fade again. She is still blunt and abrupt. She is still curt, bordering on outright rudeness. But she comes back. She grudgingly asks him about the Fade, about the things he has seen, the places he has explored.

It is a start.


	49. After Falon'Din: Bandits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bandits pick the wrong family to trouble.

Bandits come when the twins are fourteen. In the middle of the night, of course. Cowards.

But they aren't ordinary bandits. The attack isn't random. They call Ellana by name. Inquisitor. The Dread Wolf's bitch. They fire arrows at the window when they can't breach the wards. They try to set the roof aflame.

They have picked the wrong family to trouble.

They have chosen the wrong woman to insult.

The idiots cast a few flashy spells. There's a bit of blood magic. Mostly it's spells that look good to an amateur---the danger is minimal. 

When there is a lull in their pointless casting, one of them steps forward. He is ordinary looking and a bit on the unwashed side. His armor is a little better than the others. Sturdier. 

“If you come out peacefully,” the man, likely their idiot leader, says, “If you surrender yourself and his brats, will spare the others.” He waits. He seems to think he's so clever, but he has made another fatal error. Her children are not brats, and there's nothing on this earth that could make her surrender them. Not to bandits. Not to anyone. She can't keep the rage from bubbling up. 

And Fenris is much the same. He is tense beside her. 

“I am going to enjoy taking them apart,” he says.

“Get in line,” she says.

She blankets them both with a barrier. She is about to hit the bandits with pull of the abyss and immolate when she feels the warning.

Neria and Mahanon are supposed to keep the littles together in the master bedroom. But while Ellana and Fenris are preparing to unleash death on bandits, clearly, they are at the windows watching. They are forgetting they are still children and have no business inserting themselves into a fight between adults. Ellana knows this and she is too worried to be angry.

One of them cracks the window. Ellana feels the wards. She feels the shift in the magic---it doesn't break, but it weakens. It would still stop a person from trying to get in, but it won't stop an arrow or a fireball.

It draws the bandits' attention. They renew their assault. They think they are going to win.

The leader laughs. He thinks he can send his people up the side of the wall. He thinks he can get to the children before Ellana turns them inside out. He is wrong.

She thinks he has never felt pull of the abyss, because when she drops it on him, he makes a ridiculous sound. He scrambles against it. He fights to keep his footing. They all do. They all fail.

Fenris makes a harsh sound in the back of his throat. He grips his sword and he slashes through the first bandits like they are nothing.

They are nothing. they don't have a chance.

Ellana hits them with immolate.

“Shut that window now,” she shouts. She knows Neria and Mahanon can hear her. She knows they're listening and god help them when she finishes with this, because they know better. She told them to stay out of sight, to stay quiet. This is not out of sight. It isn't quiet.

The bandit closest to her is suddenly encased in ice. Completely. 

She doesn't look, but she knows which one the spell belongs to. Neria. She has always preferred ice. A second later the same bandit shatters. Fenris, this time.

The rest of the bandits, still caught by Pull of the Abyss, are caught up in a second spell. Thorny vines erupt from the ground. Ellana almost thinks Merrill has come. It's one of her favorite spells. But she isn't here. This spell is Mahanon's doing. He begged Merrill to teach him and so they allowed it. But she didn't allow it so he could do this. He is too young. They are both too young.

They are both in so much trouble.

“Get away from the window, now,” Fenris shouts. 

The bandits struggle. A few of them cut themselves free. And the bandit leader has gone curiously quiet. His face is white. His eyes are wild. He knows now. He knows exactly where he went wrong.

Idiot.

She could burn them all up. It would end the fight, but if she did that, she wouldn't be able to question them. She needs to. At least one. There could be more somewhere. This could be just the beginning.

Besides, she still isn't very good with Sylaise's magic. She doesn't enjoy disintegrating people. Not even smelly, unwashed bandits.

A wall of ice erupts from the ground. It blocks her from advancing and it stops the bandits from attacking. This is Neria again. And Ellana can hear Aveline crying.

As Fenris gets his hand around the leader's throat, Ellana makes a decision. She burns the others. She leaves the leader alive to face Fenris' fury.

She turns to the window, and sure enough, she sees Mahanon and Neria. She sees Cillian. She sees Varric. The damn window is most definitely open. 

They are staring at her like she's a damn demon. Varric ducks down. He tries to pull Cillian with him, but Cillian leans up. He waves like it's a grand game. He is the only one who doesn't look terrified. 

“Close that window now,” she says, “Don't make me come up there.”

Neria lurches. She shuts the window. She pulls Mahanon out of sight. She gets Cillian by the collar and hauls him back. Aveline is still crying. It takes everything in Ellana not to go to her. This has to be handled first.

“Is this all of you?” Fenris asks, “Or do you have a camp somewhere? Are there more idiots waiting to die?”

The bandit spits on him. She thinks he hasn't quite realized the weight of what just happened to his minions. But he will soon enough. The ground is blanketed in ash.

“Who sent you?” Fenris asks.

He plunges his hand through his chest and just holds it there. The bandit pisses himself. Finally, he sees just how foolish he has been. He crumples under the weight of it all. His eyes start to water---tears drip down his face. One wrong answer and it's over. Fenris just has to let go of his throat and step back.

Still, she is surprised. She would have thought their reputation alone would have discouraged attacks like this.

“Just us,” the bandit says, “It was just us.”

“Why?” she asks, “What did you hope to accomplish?”

He makes a wild sound. He struggles. Fenris only tightens his grip. He doesn't want to answer.

"Nothing," he says, "We just wanted---we wouldn't have hurt anyone. No harm done. No harm meant." But he is lying. This was either for money or revenge. He knew about her connection to Solas, about her children's connection to Solas. He meant to use it somehow. It makes her blood run cold.

But it doesn't matter. He has said all he will say. Everything else that comes out of his mouth will be desperate lies. Fenris must be following her line of thought. He pulls the man's heart out. He lets him fall.

“It's better than you deserve,” he says as the man dies. She burns the body.

Fenris wipes the blood from his blade. When he turns to look at her, his face is grim.

"They were rather bold for ordinary bandits," she says.

"Bold, stupid, is there a difference?" he asks.

"Maybe. If he was lying---"

"He was too afraid to lie," he says, but there is a tremor in his voice, a hesitation, "It is finished."

She is going to argue, but she hears footsteps. She takes a long breath before she turns. Neria stares at her from the doorway. Behind her is Mahanon, holding a sniffling Aveline. She doesn't see Varric or Cillian, but she hears them arguing. She tries to rein in her temper.

"When I tell you to hide, I don't mean you should open the window and try to help," she says, "You could have been hurt."

"What did they want?" Neria asks.

"It's not important," Ellana says, "They're gone. You're safe." She doesn't want to think about it right now. She doesn't want to question how the bandits knew where they were, who they are. She doesn't want to think about the possibility someone betrayed them. 

She hopes it was just an accident. The wrong person overheard something or the bandits got lucky.

But Ellana isn't very good at playing the optimist.

Aveline reaches for her. She starts to cry again.

"There, love, it's alright," Ellana says as she takes her. Aveline buries her face in her shoulder. She gets her arms around her neck and squeezes just a little too tight. Ellana rubs her back. She kisses her head.

"That was scary but it's over," she says, "Everything's fine."

"Go on back inside," Fenris says, "Stay away from the windows." His sword is still drawn. When he said the man was lying, it was just to make her feel better. He isn't truly satisfied the danger has passed.

"Why?" Mahanon asks, "Are they still---"

"No," Ellana says, "They're gone. Go on inside. I'll make us something warm to drink."

Fenris nods, he shoots her a look. He starts down the path---to walk the perimeter, to be certain. Mahanon protests.

"You can't go alone. I'll come with you," he says and she thinks she's going to explode. He is absolutely not helping Fenris hunt for bandits. Under no circumstances would she ever allow it.

"No," Fenris says, and he is sharper than he means to be, "Go inside." Mahanon looks utterly rejected.

It takes a while to get everyone calm, to get them back inside. Mahanon shuts himself up in his room. He only grudgingly opens his door when she brings him a mug of hot cocoa. He grumbles about not being a baby. He doesn't want to talk.

So she goes back to the kitchen and sits with Cillian, Varric, and Neria. Aveline fights to stay awake but it is a losing battle. She nods off after just a few minutes, her head cushioned on Ellana's shoulder. She puts her back in bed and turns to the task of settling Cillian.

He is in no mood to go back to sleep, not until Papa gets back. He's too wound up.

"I have to say goodnight again," he says.

Usually, she would send him to bed anyway, but this time feels different. The attack was unexpected. They are still nervous, afraid.

"Just this once," she says, "But quietly. Aveline's asleep."

He falls asleep in the chair. And by the time Fenris returns, Varric is nodding off too. She thinks there's more blood on Fenris' night clothes than before and none of it is his.

"Were there more?" Neria asks. Her face is drawn with worry. 

"No," Fenris says. He smiles but he is lying. Ellana can hear it in his voice. 

Neria is fooled, though. She relaxes. She slumps in her chair and she looks very, very young all of a sudden.

"Good," she says, "I don't want them to come back. What did they want with us?"

He washes the blood from his face, his hands, his arms.

"They wanted what bandits always want," he says, "Money. There is nothing to be afraid of now. They're gone. They won't trouble us again."

Neria gives them both a hug and goes to bed. Varric shuffles along after her.

Fenris picks Cillian up when he doesn't stir. He carries him back to his room and puts him back in bed. Ellana doesn't ask the important questions until they're alone in their bedroom, until the door is firmly shut and no one can hear them. He pulls the soiled night shirt over his head. He drops it in a pile on the floor.

"How many?" she asks, "And are you alright?"

Instead of answering, he gets her up against the wall, his hands on her face as he kisses her. She is caught off guard. When she opens her mouth, when the surprise of it makes her gasp, he slips his tongue past her lips. He devours her. He steals her breath.

She feels like she's melting.

"Six," he says at last, "I am fine."

He starts to kiss her again, but she stops him.

"Are you fine?" she asks.

"Just bruised. I know what will make it better," he says.

His hands skim down her face, her neck, lower. He shucks her night dress up over her hips and lifts her and then he's nipping her collarbone. The thin cotton of his pants do nothing to hide his arousal.

"You're terrible," she says, laughing.

She arches against him.

"Should I stop?" he asks. His smile is crooked, his gaze intense. It makes her shiver. It makes something twist low in her belly.

"Don't you dare stop," she says. She thinks she might cry if he does.

She is not expecting it when he tears her smalls. He tries to get them to the side but they are an older pair. They aren't nearly as sturdy as they should be. They rip all the way up the side. 

"So much for that," he says. He runs a finger along her clit. He circles it. He presses just so.

"Did I mention you're terrible?" she asks. Whatever else she means to say breaks off when he eases that finger inside of her. He works it several times before he pulls out again.

"I'm not the only one who's terrible," he says. He holds his hand so she can see her slick on his fingers, "What would people think if they knew fighting bandits gets the Inquisitor wet?"

"Is that what you think?" she asks, and she tries to arch an eyebrow, to look haughty and forbidding, but she fails. He has her. He has her completely. 

With one hand she shoves the waist of his pants down. She shifts, her back still pressed to the wall, until he springs free. The sound he makes when she gets her hand around him is almost her undoing. She holds on somehow, she angles her hips to give him better access, and then he's inside her. He drives the air right out of her lungs.

This is what she needs. Gods, this is exactly what she needs. 

"Please," she says.

He moves again. He sets a mad pace. She tries to help, but it is an awkward position. She is still furious about the bandits, still furious that the calm has been shattered. More could come. More could try.

He gets a hand between them. He touches her. He tries to help her along. he chases the thoughts from her head.

Neither of them are in the mood for anything long and careful. There is too much frantic energy. There is desperation. There is need. She doesn't even care that the wall is a bit too rough. She doesn't care that her night dress is twisted uncomfortably around her. The way he makes her feel---it is worth it for this.

"You are beautiful," he says, "So beautiful."

She means to return the compliment, she does, but he catches her off guard again. His lips part against hers. He steals her words with another kiss and it is too late. Her orgasm crashes over harder than it ever has. She bites her lip to keep from crying out, but she miscalculates, she makes herself bleed.

He pulls out a moment later. He lets her legs slide down, sets her feet back on the ground. He spills on his hand, her stomach. 

She is still waiting for body to stop quaking. This is nice---better than nice. He scoops her up. He wobbles a bit before he gets his balance, but she's not worried. He looks into her eyes and he smiles.

"Thank you," she says. He carries her to the bed, sets her down gently. 

"Thank me later," he says.

"Oh?"

"We're just getting started," he says.

He leans in. He kisses her ear. He slides her night dress up over her head. 

"Oh we are, are we?" she asks. She likes the way his breath feels on her skin, the way his voice rumbles against her.

"If you are interested," he says. He sucks a nipple into his mouth. He flicks it with his tongue. 

"I'm listening," she says, and she sounds breathless, far away. 

"I would like to make you come again," he says, "And again. And again. And again." He presses a kiss to her skin each time he says 'again'. His hand dips between her legs. He gets her writhing against him. He gets her shuddering, sparking with pleasure.

And she forgets all about the bandits.


	50. Slow Arrow: He Sends Her Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during the Solas/Lavellan ending. Smut. Because reasons.
> 
> She thinks she falls too quickly.

The first time is a mistake. She is weak. 

He invites her to discuss the preparations for the journey to Kal-Sharok. She agrees because they have met quite a few times already. It is nothing new. It is perfectly safe. 

She meets him in his office in the Vir Dirthara. He has already arranged for dinner. When she sees it, she knows she should walk out. She should run.

But he has ordered all her favorites. There is no Tevinter Red, because it would have taken a miracle to find another bottle. She thinks she has consumed them all in the last four hundred years. But there is wine. There should not be, but there is.

Solas looks a little perplexed by all of it. Especially at the wine. It makes her wonder for a moment if he's responsible for it or if Cole has been visiting again.

He smiles but he looks flustered.

"Hello, Ellana," he says, "I have missed lunch again. Do you mind if we eat an early dinner?"

Her stomach rumbles loud enough for him to hear. Of course they can eat. She nods. She tries to smile, but she is suddenly very nervous. She is concerned.

"I don't know why this is here," he says. He moves the wine to one of the shelves, out of reach. Definitely Cole, she thinks, she is tired of trying to talk to him about this.

She sits and he talks about the day's current group of fools who didn't understand how library books are supposed to be treated. He talks about Kal-Sharok. He talks about one of Dirthamen's lost cities. He talks while they eat. 

She gives in and opens the bottle of wine. It can't really hurt. If she paces herself. If she doesn't push her limits. He asks her about her day. She pours and he listens and soon they are talking. Really talking. It is strange. It is...nice.

His gaze is hot. Intense. She catches hims staring. 

Maybe it's the wine. She hasn't had much. Not even a glass, but she always did make her worst mistakes when she was drinking. Or maybe it's just her. She doesn't really know. But when he looks at her like that---she can't breathe. She catches herself leaning toward him.

She catches herself wanting. 

He kisses her. Or maybe she kisses him. She doesn't know who moves first. She wraps her arms around his neck as he hauls her up out of her chair, his hands gliding down her hips, under her, lifting her. She pulls herself closer. She gets her her legs around his waist and he is still kissing her. 

This is wrong. This is a mistake. She can't---they can't---

There is a crash. He knocks the stack of empty containers to the floor with one sweep of his arm. He sits her down on the edge of the desk and she is shaking.

She is shocked to the core by how much she wants this to continue. 

"May I?" he asks. His hands hover at her sides. Somehow, she knows what he means. She knows that look. 

"Please," she says, and it comes out harsh, dry. Her tongue feels too thick. 

He touches her hips and then she's flat on her back and he's tugging her pants down. He's tossing them, sinking to his knees. He kisses the inside of her thigh. He runs his thumb along her slit. He breathes.

This is insane, she thinks. She is insane. How did they get here so quickly? 

And then she feels his mouth. His tongue. He finds her clit, he remembers the rhythm, and she is arching up against him. He makes a happy sound.

He gets his arms around her legs and hauls her closer. She feels the heat of his breath---the wet slide of his tongue. She feels his hand again, his fingers. He slips one inside of her and she thinks she's going to scream because it shouldn't feel this good. It has been four hundred years. He should have forgotten.

"Please," she says. 

Over and over again. _Please._

He looks at her, never stopping, never pausing. He adds another finger. He stretches her. He curves them just right---

There is no warning this time. She is aching for release and then she's coming. All at once. So quickly. So hard. She doesn't see stars but the edges of her vision go a little fuzzy. 

Solas smiles. When he stands, she sees he has already worked himself free. He is hard. So very hard. 

"May I?" he asks, his voice trembling, his hands shaking.

"Please," she says, because that was nowhere near enough. 

She touches him. She grips him, savoring the weight of it, the smooth of his skin. He pulls her against him, he coaxes her legs up---he hooks them around his waist. She is sitting, perched on the very edge of the desk. If not for him, she'd fall.

She kisses him. She doesn't care what the past is right now or who they are. She knows she loves him. And that is all that matters. Later, she thinks there will be regret. There will be nagging voices reminding her of all the ways this shouldn't be, but for now, just for now---

He shifts and he's inside her. Pushing hard and quick and so sudden it chases her breath away. She looks at him and she realizes he is just as out of breath. He is just as caught in the moment as she is. He rocks against her and it is not a gentle thing. 

She doesn't want gentle.

"Please," she says, arching into his thrust, "Please."

He shuts his eyes for a moment. He shudders, his breath rushing out. It is a wonderful, ragged sound. It is sweet. He slides his palm behind her neck, his fingers in her hair. And the kiss he gives her is wild, it is devouring. It is perfect.

He fucks her like that. Standing between her legs, her ass half off the edge of the desk, his mouth pressed to hers, his tongue warring with hers. Both of them still half dressed. And she feels like she's on fire.

"Ar lath ma," he says.

He jerks. His body goes tense for a moment and then she feels him start to unravel. He buries his face in her throat. He kisses her there. Over and over again. He comes inside of her.

"Ar lath ma," she says. She knows better than to say it. She knows she shouldn't, but she can't help herself because it is the truth.

He sighs. 

The afterglow doesn't last. Because she realizes the weight of what she told him, of what he told her---what they did. _Ar lath ma._ It hurts to breathe. It does. The regret falls heavy. She wasn't thinking. Neither of them were.

She would like to run away now. She would like the ground to open up and swallow her. 

But he touches her cheek. His eyes are so wide and vulnerable. She can't run away. She doesn't want to hurt him. Even now, after all this time, she doesn't. 

"Was that---are you---" he stops. She can tell he's afraid to hear her answer.

"I'm fine," she says, she tries to smile, "It was unexpected but...it was good." He doesn't believe her until she kisses him, until she laces her arms around him again. He doesn't relax, but he loses some of his tension.

"I should have---we should have waited," he says, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pushed." She does not expect _that_

"You didn't push," she says. He didn't. 

"I want everything to be perfect," he says, "You deserve perfect. After everything I---" She sees the flicker of guilt again. She hears it in his voice, and somehow, it kills some of her regret. This is different. He is different.

He retrieves her pants.

"Solas, stop," she says, "It really is fine." Lies. It isn't. She is surprised she can keep her hands steady. She gets dressed. She tries to think.

"It should be better than just fine. You deserve better," he says," Can we start again? Can I---may I do this properly?"

Whatever that means. She stares at him. Uncertain. Very uncertain. And he looks desperate. 

"I suppose so, if that's what you want," she says, "But it really is unnecessary."

"I was going to ask you before, if I could---" he stops, he fumbles with his hands, "If we could---"

"If we could what?" she asks.

"Start again," he says at last, "If we could...try."

She should say no. She should tell him this was a mistake. She should run away and never look back. But Lavellan has never been terribly wise. She has always been too impulsive, too foolish, too quick to follow her heart. 

She says, "We can try."

And gods help her, but she means it.

 

He sends her forget me nots and lillies of the valley and pink roses. And Cole is so pleased with himself. He's the only one who knows because she is afraid to tell anyone. She knows what Sera will say. She knows what they will all say.

But she has been alone for so long. She has missed this version of Solas for so long. It is like a dream.

"See," Cole says, "See." As if his meddling all makes sense now. It doesn't. It won't. 

He smiles. 

She sighs. She thinks about how angry everyone is going to be. She thinks about Cassandra. She thinks about Dorian. And Cole's face falls.

"Nothing about this is simple," she says.

The flowers are beautiful. She puts them on her kitchen table. She thinks they brighten the room.

"It isn't wrong to love," Cole says.

"I know," she says.

"Then what's wrong?" he asks, "You shouldn't care what anyone else thinks."

"You should let yourself be happy," he says,"It will be alright."

He doesn't understand. But how could he when she doesn't either? After everything Solas has done, she should hate him. She shouldn't want to see his face. She shouldn't miss him.

But she does miss him. After everything that has happened, she does.

 

The second time is on purpose. It doesn't feel like a mistake.

He asks her to dinner. They don't talk about work or research. There is nothing pressing they have to address. He gives her flowers. Red carnations and red chrysanthemums. 

He cooks. 

She watches while he dices onions and peppers, while he seasons the meat. He asks her about her day and she can't concentrate. 

There is no wine this time. But it doesn't matter. 

"I missed you," he says.

She kisses the corners of his mouth, making him pause. She doesn't know who is more surprised. But it is so easy to fall back to this. 

"I missed you too," she says, and her voice sounds thick, "Is there anything I can help with?"

"If the water is boiling, you could start the pasta," he says. But it takes him a moment. He looks at her mouth. He leans in, just enough. His lips brush hers. Soft. Hesitant. 

Something is going to burn if they continue like this.

She starts the pasta. She tries not to look at him too much. But it is difficult. 

She _wants_ to look at him, to touch him. She is losing her head and it is far too early. She knows better than this.

Talk again turns to the subject of Dirthamen's lost cities, of the books Solas thinks they'll find. It is a welcome distraction. He asks if she'd like to come along. He asks if she wants to help.

There was a time the thought would have been repulsive. She has crawled through so many ancient ruins, fought her way through countless crypts. But now? Dirthamen is gone, but the thought of stealing something from him is far too tempting.

She says yes and Solas looks surprised. 

"It will be a small number. Abelas will likely join us and I imagine Cole will as well," he says, "But we should be prepared. There may be varterrals. Dirthamen was quite fond of them."

They lapse into silence. 

They eat, finally. She thinks about what she's doing here, with him again. It has been four hundred years. It is another world. Maybe this will be ok. Maybe it will work. Maybe.

About halfway through the meal, she looks up. He glances at her. He smiles and the corners of his eyes crinkle. She feels like something is squeezing her heart, her lungs. She aches. She can't stop herself. She can't.

When she kisses him, something inside the both of them breaks. They forget about the food. They forget about everything.

They barely make it out of the kitchen. They stumble over each other in their haste. She gets his shirt off. She touches the hard ridges of muscle along his stomach, and then, he stops her.

"This is---" Solas says, when he tries to catch his breath, "We shouldn't. I want to be careful with you this time."

She tries to hide her disappointment.

"We can stop," she says.

But he kisses her again. His hands slip down to the swell of her ass. He pulls her against him, tight.

"I don't want to stop," he says, his voice suddenly ragged.

"Neither do I," she says. 

So they don't. 

He goes slow. He gets her shirt over her head, tosses it. He kisses every part of her, every bared inch of flesh. Her skin prickles. She feels the heat of his breath, the soft press of his lips, and she thinks she will go mad before they even begin.

He slides her pants down over her hips. He trails his fingertips along her sides. He gets them under her smalls and then he's pulling them down too. He gets her on her back on the floor. He sits back on his heels and just looks at her. He stares.

"Solas?" she asks. Suddenly, she is uncertain. Self conscious. 

"You are so beautiful," he says.

Her breath catches and then he's touching her. He's working her clit, the pace frustratingly slow---just fast enough to make her crazy but not fast enough to get her anywhere. He kisses her face, her throat, her shoulder. 

He pauses to strip out of his pants, finally. She can see all of him again. It has been such a long time since she felt like this with him. Eager. Happy. She keeps wondering when she's going to wake up. Because isn't that how it always goes? Things seem better and then they're worse, so much worse.

She tugs him down and she is glad he doesn't hesitate. He sinks into her. The stretch is slow, maddening, but it is good. She can tell he wants this to last. He is savoring the moment. He is straining.

She bites his ear.

"What are you waiting for?" she asks, she smiles. She rocks against him. 

His grin is lopsided. He moves. He grinds into her. Still too slow. Teasing. 

"I'm simply admiring the view," he says. And his gaze sweeps low.

When she squeezes him, he relents. He buries himself in her up to the hilt. Hard. He repeats the motion and she forgets to breathe.

She angles her hips. She arches to meet him. And she is overwhelmed by the feel of it, of him. Everywhere his skin touches hers feels like fire. So much heat.

She doesn't last nearly as long as she wants. She feels the sparks. She feels the wave of pleasure crest over her and she is undone. He goes impossibly tense. She can feel it even through her orgasm. He comes a second later, gasping, still so terribly tense. His body is like iron.

And then he isn't. He rolls off, lays beside her---almost boneless. Relaxed. He breathes. 

"Thank you," she says.

And she means it. 

"It seems we are destined to move too fast," he says, but he is not upset.

"That ship has already sailed," she says. She is done trying to fight this. Whatever it is, whatever it will be, it is real. She knows. Sera will understand or she won't. There is nothing Lavellan can do to change her mind. She tells herself that doesn't matter, but it's another lie. She cares. She doesn't want Sera to hate her.

Solas turns to face her. He kisses her again. 

 

He sends her red roses and red tulips. He sends her daffodils.


	51. Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falon'Din succeeds in binding Ellana to his will. She breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: non con, major multiple character death
> 
> This is dark and most of the characters die. There is no happy anything here. It's terrible.

No one comes to save her. She drinks. She feels ancient magic settle under her skin, deep down to her bones. She hears voices, so many voices.

It is hard to understand them at first but after a moment they seem to meld together, into one. They tell her what has happened. They show her the ways Falon'Din has perverted the magic used against her. She has no choice but to obey him when he commands.

"Isn't that better?" he asks, when her mind finally clears. He tilts her head back, his hand on her chin, his thumb pressing too hard, "You have nothing more to worry about. I will take care of you." The way he looks at her is revolting. The way he smiles, the tenderness there---no.

It isn't better. He doesn't understand. This is a nightmare. It is worse because she can't wake up. No matter how she tries, this is still real.

He kisses the corners of her mouth. He kisses her forehead. He takes her hand and leads her away.

When they are alone, he strips her. He applies new vallaslin---shimmering white lines this time. They mark her chest, her stomach, and curve onto her arms. He marks her back again. It is a small blessing he leaves her face bare.

Mythal is quiet. She doesn't stir. Ellana wonders if the binding is affecting her. It must be. 

He removes the warded cuffs from her wrists. He commands her never to harm him, never to attack him.

There is no hope.

 

Ellana is gone. The castle is chaos. People are dead. People are hiding. There is panic.

She is gone.

Gone.

It echoes in his mind. It is too loud. He can't think. He can't find Neria and Mahanon either. Or Niala. Or Cole. Fenris knows this is his fault. He should have been here. He should have let someone else go with Loranil on patrol. 

Velanna and Merrill find him. They stop him from going through the eluvian. Merrill stops him from breaking it, from screaming. She looks as bad as he feels. Worse. She was with her before it happened. She saw it. She was almost taken too. 

"We'll get her back," she says, "I promise." 

She sounds half mad with it. _I promise._ Over and over again, _I promise._

Velanna doesn't think he found the children. She says they were with Niala and Cole. She thinks. She doesn't know for sure.

Where is Falon'Din taking Ellana, he wonders, where is she? He thinks of Falon'Din. He thinks of what he'll do to her and he has never felt so useless, helpless, stupid. This is the third time he has let her down. This is the third time the bastard has taken her away.

"We can't stay here," he says.

Because he knows. Falon'Din will be back for the rest of them. He will want revenge.

"Where can we go?" Merrill asks, "Sera and Mahariel won't know where we are. Abelas. We don't know how to find them---we need them if we expect to fight him."

"We need to contact Cole," Velanna says, because they do. The damned spirit always knows. Always. He could tell them.

"We don't have time to figure it out," Fenris says. They have to go. They can't just sit here, waiting.

Velanna sighs. 

"Very well," she says, "I know where Mahariel was supposed to be. We can start from there." It is the best they can do.

 

Falon'Din is not afraid to leave her alone. He commands her not to run away and she can't disobey. He rides out with his soldiers. He is gone for days.

But when he returns, he brings prisoners. He brings new slaves. He brings a bloody bag. 

"The heads of our enemies," he says. And he is furious. He is in a rage.

He throws it on the ground. He expects her to look and when she does, she is almost relieved it is no one she really knows. It is terrible. They were people. They didn't deserve this.

He hasn't caught Fenris. He hasn't found Neria and Mahanon. She prays he never will.

The days are terrible. The nights are worse. She is torn between wishing he would ride out again and hoping he stays. If he rides out, he'll find more of her people. He'll kill them. If he's here, he can't find them.

But when he's here, he demands her attention. He expects her to fawn over him and follow him like a besotted idiot. She is expected to satisfy his every desire, his every whim. He commands her to love him and she can only pretend. The compulsion doesn't extend that deep. 

She smiles for him. She tells him what he wants to hear.

And he pretends he's pleased with the lie.

He lets her keep Sylaise's magic. He says she is no threat. She is better like this. She thinks he means he can use her like this. She is a tool like this.

But he takes Mythal. When he rips her out, Ellana feels more than pain. Mythal tries to hold on, tries to fight, but she can't. She hurts her. Ellana feels like her edges are ragged now. She feels...fragile. 

She hates him. She hates what he's turned her into.

 

Fenris is not surprised when the few remaining sentinels join them. And Zevran. Many of the civilians stay. They are afraid to go. They break the eluvian and they think it will be enough. Fenris knows better.

They don't listen to him.

But the sentinels follow him. They think they can find Abelas without Cole. They think they know where he will look for Mahariel. For Sera.

Fenris is too angry to talk. Too worried. He can't quiet his thoughts. He can't stop them from racing down dangerous paths. She's in pain. He knows. Falon'Din will punish her. He will.

"It will be alright," Merrill insists,"We'll find her." She doesn't hide her shaking. Fenris sees her hands. He hears the desperation in her voice. She doesn't really believe they will. Or, if she does, she knows they will fail. Falon'Din will finally kill them. 

They ride to the mountains. 

Cole finds him in the Fade. 

"He has her," he says, "It's too late."

"What do you mean?" Fenris asks and he thinks the worst. It can't be possible. Falon'Din is too obsessed to kill her. He wouldn't, would he?

"You can't go to her like this," Cole says, "She wears his chains now. She can't disobey. The magic is too strong. You can't fight them both."

Fenris didn't think he could feel worse than he did, but somehow, he manages. He doesn't want to know any more. 

"Where are Mahanon and Neria? Are they safe?" he asks, because he doesn't know what he'll do if they aren't. 

"I've hidden them," Cole says, "He won't find us."

"Stay off the roads," Cole says, "Go north." He shows him where. He tells him Abelas will be there. And Mahariel. Sera. 

Fenris hopes it's true, but he doesn't believe him. 

 

Cole finds her in the Fade. It is dangerous for him because Falon'Din could find her now. He could come and catch them. There is no sanctuary, no refuge.

"Don't tell me anything," she says, "Just keep them safe. Please Cole."

He nods and she can't bear the look in his eyes. She wonders if there's a way he could kill her here, put her out of her misery. End it.

"Don't give up," Cole says, "Please."

But she already has. What else can she do? How can she hope to fight Falon'Din? 

"They're trying to find you," he says.

Her stomach falls. Her heart falls. She doesn't want them to come for her. Not now. Not ever. Because he will kill them. He might make her kill them.

"No," she says, "Cole, you have to stop them. Please."

"Don't let them find me," she says.

If she could break the bindings, maybe that would be something. But she can't.

She can't.

She wakes to his hands on her body. She shuts her eyes. She pretends she's somewhere else until he snaps at her. 

"Look at me," he says.

She feels the magic take control. She opens her eyes. She looks at him.

"Good morning, vhenan," he says.

He smiles.

 

The sentinels find Abelas' trail. Fenris doesn't dare to hope they'll find him alive, but they follow it. 

There is a camp. Fenris doesn't expect to see Mahariel or Sera, but they're there. And Abelas. And Morrigan. A handful of sentinels. And Mahariel gives them a look that says everything. She's nearby. Ellana must be.

But it is worse than he expected.

"Sit down," Mahariel says, "We need to talk."

No. They don't. They need to do something. They need to help her.

"We can't," Mahariel says, "Not yet. It's complicated. There's magic---" Fenris doesn't care. Every minute they wait is a minute she suffers, it's a minute she's forced to endure.

Mahariel puts his hands on his shoulders. He looks him in the eye and his expression is---it's---

"Stop," Mahariel says, "Just stop. Sit down and listen. This is important." His voice makes Fenris fold. It makes him obey. It is heavy and there is too much defeat in it, like they have already lost. But they can't. They just can't.

Mahariel looks at Morrigan. 

"It's like the Well of Sorrows," she says, "She is bound to his will. He has forced his magic upon her. If we attack, she will be fight us. She will have no choice. It is likely we will have to kill her. We have to be patient."

No.

"I saw it with my own eyes," Mahariel says, and he looks at Sera, "We both did."

"We were going to hit the fucker where he hurts, but we were too late," Sera says. 

This can't be happening.

But it is. 

"We'll think of something," Merrill says. Sera holds her hand. She kisses her. She looks every bit as doubtful as Mahariel, as Abelas. They can't win. Falon'Din has her completely now. 

 

The dress he bids the servants dress her in is hardly a dress. It is thin, white, wispy material, cut too low in the front and back. It shows more than a generous portion of her skin. It shows the vallaslin. 

He gives her a long silverite necklace---it winds around and around her neck and hangs down between her breasts. There are so many diamonds. He gives her bracelets to match. He gives her rings. He smiles as she's decorated like a damn tree.

The servants line her eyes with dark pigment. They smudge color into her cheeks and eyelids. They paint her lips with red. 

They arrange her hair in a ridiculously complicated fashion. They tug and twist it. They pin and unpin and pin it again. She doesn't know what they're trying to accomplish. In the end, it looks lovely. She hates it. 

He is humming with joy. He has planned something special.

"It's a surprise," he says, "For us, emma lath. For you."

He gets a hand behind her neck. He pulls her towards him and kisses her, careful to avoid smudging the makeup. 

Her heart falls. She thinks there is only one surprise that could put him in this kind of mood. Maybe he has found Neria and Mahanon. Maybe he has caught Fenris. She can't even cry anymore. He has commanded her not to.

She doesn't understand how he can be like this. She doesn't understand how he can want her like this. She is little more than a doll. 

He calls one of his priests. They perform the marriage ceremony again. He makes her repeat her vows. He thinks it matters. He thinks it erases the memory of Fenris' touch. He is wrong.

She feels like she is trapped inside her own skin. She is screaming and no one can hear her.

 

Fenris feels like they're making a mistake. But Merrill says it will work. She and Morrigan agree. They have to do something.

He is angry. He is afraid. He doesn't want to rely on Evanuris magic.

But what choice is there?

He sees Ellana through a window. He sees Falon'Din. He sees him kiss her and the look on her face is terrible. Her eyes are dull. Dead. She can't hold out much longer.

Every day she spends with him is a day she loses a piece of herself. They can't wait.

They attack before dawn. 

 

The attack is quick. It is over before it begins. Velanna and Mahariel and Zevran turn to stone. Abelas is knocked unconscious. He collapses with the other sentinels. They are secured by the soldiers.

There is only Morrigan, Sera, Merrill, and Fenris left standing. They struggle to move but it is like an invisible force holds them, stops them. They are finished. Falon'Din has them. 

Fenris. 

She doesn't want to watch. She doesn't want to see what comes next, but she can't look away.

'Please, don't," she says, "Ma sa'lath, spare them."

He pulls the magic out of Sera and Merrill and Fenris. All of it. He keeps it for himself. He leaves them weakened. Broken.

He looks strange, more than he ever has. She can feel the magic in the air around him. She can feel the cold. It spills out. He can't control it. He doesn't try. 

She thinks he's going to hurt them before he kills them. She thinks he's going to torture them. But he doesn't. He turns Sera and Merrill to stone. He commands the soldiers to arrange them around the wall, so she will see them every time she looks out the window. 

He stares at Morrigan for a long moment.

"Little sister," he says.

"Shithead," Morrigan says. The bindings of the Vir Abelasan flare and they are a strange color. They are not pure. They are corrupted. Ellana can see it as clear as she can see the sun in the sky.

Morrigan screams. She doubles over.

"I should take your power too," he says, "Perhaps I will. Consider that the next time you speak to me."

She glares at him. She tries to speak, she can't. Falon'Din sends her with a few of his soldiers. Ellana doesn't know where she goes, but she disappears into the temple. 

The last one left is Fenris. Ellana stares at him and her heart is broken.

"What shall I do with you?" Falon'Din asks. He pretends he hasn't decided.

He pulls the knife from his belt and toys with it. He looks at her. He smiles.

"What do you think, vhenan?" he asks, "What should I do to your man? What punishment would you give to the one who defiled your beloved?"

It doesn't matter what she says. He has already told her what he will do. He wants her to beg. He wants to watch her face as she realizes it was all for nothing.

"You've already won," she says, "What does it matter?"

_I'm sorry, Fenris, she thinks._ He looks at her and she knows he knows. No matter what happens now, they have that much. Cole was wrong. There is no hope. There is no reason to hold on.

Falon'Din laughs. He puts the knife back in his belt.

"You are right, emma lath, it doesn't matter," he says, " _He_ doesn't matter."

"Look at him, vhenan," he continues, "Say your goodbyes."

But he doesn't giver her the chance. When she looks at Fenris again, he turns to stone. It is over. There is nothing left. He is gone.

Falon'Din rests a heavy hand on her shoulder. He digs his fingers into her skin. He squeezes too hard. He whispers terrible things in her ear, things he wants to do to her now that he has won. 

She doesn't care.

She wants to die.

 

Falon'Din doesn't find Neria or Mahanon. He doesn't find Niala. He doesn't find Cole.

It is the only bright spot left in her world.

She stares out the window at Fenris until Falon'Din commands her not to. He has the soldiers move him away, where she can't see. It's funny, she thinks, how quickly he changes his mind.

He is so impatient.

The pulse of magic inside him is terrible. When he sleeps, he loses control of it. He pretends he means to. She wishes he'd take Sylaise's magic from her because if he does, she will have no way to resist the spill of cold in the night. She will freeze. She will die.

Finally.

He traces the lines of the vallaslin with his fingertips. He kisses the swell of her breasts. 

"We should try for another," he says, "When we finally find Nehnaise and Manadirth, they will have a new sibling to play with. It will please them."

She says nothing. She shuts her eyes and pretends she likes the way his hands feel. 

"It will please you," he continues, "I know how much you long to hold them in your arms. This will ease the pain."

Nothing will ease the pain. 

She fakes her orgasms now because she feels nothing. She doesn't remember how to come and he won't stop until he thinks she does. His pride won't allow him.

He draws the blood sigils on her body again. The voices of his dead priests tell her what they mean. They tell her all the ways he has perverted this magic. It was only ever meant to heal, to protect. It wasn't meant to encourage conception. But she knows now, that's exactly what it will do.

She can't imagine bringing another child into this world. But she has no choice.

 

Falon'Din doesn't execute Abelas. He makes him drink. He binds him to his will. He whips him until he passes out, and when he wakes, he is whipped again. It happens too many times. Falon'Din says it will continue until he decides what to do with him.

The sentinels are bound as well. They are given new tasks. They are lower than the lowest of his slaves.

Falon'Din is pleased to have more family. Even if Morrigan hates him. Especially because she does. As punishment, he keeps her a silent shadow in the temple. She doesn't talk. She isn't allowed to. Ellana sees her only in passing. But it is a rare occurrence. Ellana is not allowed out of his rooms. Not now. He won't risk losing her or the child.

Because his spell has worked again. He has won again. She is carrying his child again. 

Her only refuge is the Fade, but only the days he doesn't follow her. And he rarely follows her anymore. He is too busy struggling with his magic, fighting to contain it. Even in sleep. It is a losing battle. He has taken too much.

It should fill her with joy, but she can't feel anything. There is nothing left inside her. He has killed the last of it. 

When she sleeps, she sits among the flowers. She watches as the Fade shifts to show her Fenris. She lets it kiss her hand and hold her and tell her beautiful things. She lets herself believe the lie. She lets it be real.

Sometimes there is a dying sunflower in the center of the field. She sees it when Falon'Din visits. But once or twice, it finds its way to her when she is alone. She thinks it must be a spirit. Maybe a broken spirit of compassion, come to ease her pain. Maybe sorrow. She doesn't know but she almost feels again when she looks at it. There is almost something there.

When she touches it, some of the leaves fall off. 

She thinks of healing. She pours light into it. She tries to make it beautiful. After a while, the brown starts to turn green. It droops a little less. It seems to grow.

She wishes she could be like it. She wishes she could be a flower in the Fade. Because then she would be free.

 

She wakes to a shriek. She feels the mattress dip. She feels him shift beside her, and when she opens her eyes, she looks at him. She waits for him to take what he wants.

But he doesn't touch her. 

His eyes cloud over. He tries to talk. He can't and she doesn't know why. She thinks she should be afraid, but she isn't. She feels nothing. 

He screams. 

He lurches up, he falls out of bed. She sees him shudder on the floor. She sees the stark lines of his tattoos. She sees the terrible pale of his skin.

Words spill out of him, but they are garbled. They are impossible to understand. He struggles. He tries to push himself up, but he can't. He is hurting. 

A cloud of darkness passes over his eyes. It pushes out of him. It tears apart, disperses in the air. And Falon'Din stops screaming. She should probably care. She should help him. He will expect it. He will force it.

But she doesn't. She waits. She lays on her side and stares at him and he looks at her, his eyes so wide. 

"Ellana?" he asks. His voice sounds strange. It breaks. 

She doesn't answer. She wants him to tell her what to say. She needs the push of his magic to know how she's supposed to respond.

His hands are shaking.

She wonders why he looks confused.

"Ellana," he says. She is surprised he doesn't touch her. Usually he would. He would pull her to him with his magic. He would make her kiss him.

She stares at him. 

"Yes, vhenan," she says, because she knows now. He is making her guess. He is in one of his moods.

She sits up, she lets the covers fall away. 

He looks at the swell of her stomach and he covers his mouth. He makes a terrible sound. He turns to the side and then he is vomiting. He is emptying his stomach. She can see his horror. She can see his shock.

But she feels nothing. She doesn't care.

"This isn't real," he says.

He says it again. Over and over. This isn't real. No 

"May I go back to sleep now?" she asks, she knows she sounds dead, but no matter how she tries, she can't force emotion into her voice. She won't shut her eyes until he says it, until he tells her. And he doesn't. He vomits again. 

"Please, Falon'Din," she says. She doesn't want to make him angry.

"I'm not---that isn't," he says, "That isn't my name. I'm not him. No."

"No," he continues, "No." _No, no, no, no._

"I'm Solas," he says, "My name is Solas."

He cries.

She doesn't care. She feels nothing.


	52. Bound: Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas walks in the aftermath.  
> Solas' POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to get fluff written, but I can't seem to get anywhere with it right now. This is more dark, unhappy stuff. Probably triggering. Angst, trauma, depression, possible thoughts of suicide, 
> 
> I'll try to have something happier to post tomorrow.

There is a moment he can feel again. It's a rush of warmth. It feels like magic. He waits for Falon'Din to notice, to come to him again, to hurt him again.

But nothing happens. 

He is not alone and he is not himself. He is so very small. This is the Fade, he realizes, and the woman he's with, the woman pouring magic into him...he knows her name. He knows her face. He knows her.

Ellana. 

She has done this, given him back some part of himself. Somehow. Someway.

How long has it been? Is she alright? 

He tests the limits of Falon'Din's magic. He pushes against them. It is easier for him in the Fade. He is stronger here. He dares to hope he has a chance.

Falon'Din stirs but doesn't wake. Solas pushes harder. He reaches for Mythal and she answers. They fight him. They tear pieces of him away. Solas feels himself again. He can almost see, almost touch, almost speak.

All at once, he is sitting up, he is moving, falling. He sees a dark cloud in front of him. It pours out of his eyes. It dissipates. And when it does, he can't feel the darkness inside of him. He can't hear the terrible voice. 

His body feels wrong. It feels different. It doesn't really feel like his.

He looks up and Ellana is staring at him. She is laying on her side, her eyes so painfully blank. His first thought is she must be dead, but then she blinks. 

"Ellana?" he asks. 

She doesn't answer. He remembers now what Falon'Din has done, all the things he promised he'd do to her. He remembers all of it. He has recovered enough of himself to know.

"Ellana," he says again. She isn't alright. He can see it now. Something is wrong.

"Yes, vhenan," she says, in a voice he barely recognizes. 

When she sits up, when the blanket falls away, he wretches. He turns to the side and vomits. Falon'Din has marked her with his vallaslin. The white lines curve around her breasts, down her body, but he sees far worse than slave markings. 

She is bound to Falon'Din. He sees the magic. He sees the curse of it. 

And her stomach is swollen, it looks painfully firm. She is pregnant. Falon'Din has used his body to---he has---it is---

"This isn't real," he says. Because it can't be. This is just another image Falon'Din has conjured to punish him. 

"This isn't real. It can't be. It isn't," he says. _It isn't real._ Ellana doesn't answer him. She isn't herself. He must be right. This is a lie.

"May I go back to sleep now?" she asks, and her voice is dead. It isn't vibrant. It isn't alive. It isn't hers. No. This can't be.

Falon'Din hurt her, used Solas' body to hurt her. He did this. He---he---the thought breaks off. He vomits again. His stomach feels like it has been stuffed with broken glass. He tastes wine and bitter bile.

"Please, Falon'Din," she says. She looks at him and she thinks he's the monster. She is afraid to make him angry. She is pitching her voice to pacify him. Solas will be sick again. He doesn't think he'll be able to stop.

"I'm not---that isn't," he says, struggling to find the words, "That isn't my name. I'm not him. No." He says it over and over again. _No._

"I'm Solas," he says, "My name is Solas." Please, he thinks, see me, recognize me.

But she doesn't understand. She doesn't believe him. She stares and her eyes are not her eyes. There is nothing there. She is broken. 

He cries.

 

He doesn't think it can get any worse. He thinks he has seen as bad as it could be, but then, he sees the slaves. He sees the statues outside, too perfect to be sculpted. Later he will have to look. He will have to find out who they are, but for now, he can't.

He sees Abelas. 

His friend. Abelas. 

He is chained to a wall in the dungeon. His back is bare. It is badly scarred. Solas recognizes the marks of the lash. 

Abelas can barely hold his head up. He is too weak. But Solas sees defiance in his eyes. He sees hate.

It fades when Solas speaks. He knows him. He hears the change. 

"Solas," he says. His voice is ragged. It is too quiet. Solas has to strain to hear. 

"Get him down from there, heal him," he says, "Please." The healers are quick to comply because they are still afraid. They don't understand what has happened, not really. They think it is another trick. Falon'Din is amusing himself at their expense. 

But Abelas sees him. He knows him. He believes.

His fingers are broken. His hands are swollen and bruised. And when he breathes, Solas hears a strange whistling sound.

The healers use up their mana. They go through their lyrium supply before they are finished. But Abelas loses the terrible ashen hue to his skin. He can stand. He can move.

The scars are still there though. They had already healed. There is nothing they can do right now. There may be nothing they can ever do. He may always bear them.

"How?" Abelas asks.

"Ellana," he says, "I don't know how, but she saved me."

Somehow. He doesn't understand it and he can't stop to think about it or he will fall apart. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees her body. He sees the vallaslin. He sees...he sees...

"I didn't think we'd meet again," Abelas says. He leans on the healers. He is better, but he is still weak. He needs to sleep. To rest. He needs food and a real bed. He needs to forget the hell he has lived through.

"What has happened?" Solas asks, "Tell me."

But Abelas can't yet. He shakes his head and a part of Solas, the part that is a coward, is glad. He remembers Falon'Din's reign from so long ago. He remembers the lakes of blood. He remembers the sacrifices. The bodies. The shallow graves. 

He remembers the air that reeked of death.

He remembers the survivors, their cheeks hollowed out from starvation, their spirits broken. He sees the something like it on the faces of the People now. They are not starving, not yet, but they are hollowed out, hopeless, and afraid.

He has done this. His body has done this.

Mythal is quiet inside of him. She ignores his questions. She refuses to answer. He thinks she's trying to spare him, but she can't. 

Morrigan finds him. She doesn't speak at first, she glares. But then, she opens her mouth. She hesitates before she says his name, but she does say it. She looks shocked, as if she doesn't expect to be able to.

"He commanded me to be silent," she says, "It seems his compulsion has been broken."

"You have made a mess of this world, Dread Wolf," she says.

He knows all too well. He should have never tried. He should have left it in the hands of the Chantry and the templars. Their atrocities were nowhere near to this.

He can't believe he would think such a thing. There was a time it would have horrified him.

"When you have recovered enough of your strength, we will discuss what you will do to repair the damage," Morrigan says, "What can be done, must be done."

Morrigan looks at him like he is disgusting, like he is vile. He can't blame her. It's how he feels. It's what he is.

"Yes," he says, "I will do whatever is necessary." No matter what it is. No matter what it means for him.

Morrigan doesn't believe him. Or she doesn't care. She looks out the window at the statues and he sees grief, cold and stark and so very raw. It sits in her eyes. It hangs over her. They were her friends, he thinks, and he remembers her son, KIeran. He has taken everything from her too.

He should ask after them. He knows. But he can't. They were Ellana's friends, her allies, too. The last of the people she loved. 

He should never have woken Falon'Din. He should have never broken him and taken his power. He should have just killed him.

None of this would have happened.

 

When he returns to Ellana, she hasn't dressed. She is still in bed, waiting. She doesn't move, but she watches him. She waits.

"Would you---you should dress," he says. He will remove her vallaslin when he feels more in control, but right now, he is balancing on a thin edge.

She gets up immediately. She crosses to the closet.

"Is there something you wish me to wear?" she asks, in that terrible monotone.

"Whatever you wish," he says, "Whatever you'd like." He tries to swallow the lump in his throat, but it keeps fighting its way up. 

She stares at him as if she doesn't understand. Then she turns. She pulls something out. She barely looks at it. She pulls a long, loose dress over her head. She lets it fall down around her. 

It does nothing to hide _it._ If anything, the swell is more prominent, more noticeable. It makes him remember. This is not the first time Falon'Din forced her to carry his child. He remembers. Nehnaise and Manadirth. 

He was allowed the briefest glimpse of them before he was plunged into darkness. And they are somewhere out there. He hasn't asked Abelas. He hasn't tried to find Cole. He is afraid. Falon'Din is not known for his patience. He could have killed them. And that is more than he can bear. 

He jolts when Ellana takes his arm. When she kisses him, he feels the hard press of her stomach. 

He pulls back too quickly, but she doesn't react. 

"Would you like something to eat?" he asks.

"If it pleases you," she says. 

No. He can't----this isn't---she isn't----he tries to breathe. He tries to remember how, but it is a struggle. He can't bear the look of her eyes. The emptiness. It is worse than being made tranquil. She is still in there, but she is fractured. She is like Apathy.

She is.

"If you are hungry, we will eat," he says, "Are you hungry?'

"Yes, vhenan," she says.

 _Yes, vhenan._ But she means, yes, Falon'Din. She still believes that's who he is. She still thinks he's here.

"Ellana," he says. He feels the heat in his eyes again. He feels the unshed tears, threatening to fall. This hurts too much. 

She tries to kiss him again, but he steps back. She lets her hand drop, it rests against her side. She doesn't try to touch him again.

She hesitates at the door. She looks at it and then at him, uncertain. It is the first hint of emotion she shows. It makes him hold his breath. It makes him hope.

"Come," he says, when he realizes she isn't going to move. Please, he thinks. Please. Just smile. Just be Ellana again. Just please.

She takes a step and she looks surprised when she walks through. He sees a spark of something in her eyes. Falon'Din must have commanded her not to, and now that he's gone, much like Morrigan, the compulsion has ended. 

She doesn't smile. Her face goes blank again. The spark in her eyes dies again.

She follows him to the kitchen. The people they pass in the halls bow their heads, they scramble away. Still so frightened. Still so convinced he's their master. They will feel differently when he removes their vallaslin, he thinks. He hopes.

He is so very tired.

He wishes this was just a nightmare.

 

There is too much magic coursing through him. He doesn't realize it until he tries to sleep. 

He doesn't want to share a room with her. He doesn't want to look at her and see her like this, but he doesn't want to go either. She is fragile, vulnerable. He doesn't want to be careless. He has to find away to help her. It is the very least of what he owes her./p>

He tries to settle on one of the couches. He finds a spare blanket and pillow from one of the closets. He doesn't dare take any of hers. He has taken too much from her already.

She looks at him, confused.

"What's wrong, vhenan?" she asks.

He hears a note of panic that should not be there. He sees fear.

"It's alright, nothing's wrong," he says, "I am restless. I don't wish to disturb your sleep."

It makes it worse. She doesn't believe him. She thinks she has done something wrong. She touches his face. She tries to kiss him again. Her hands are shaking.

"You've done nothing wrong," he says and he holds her wrists for a long moment. He wants nothing more than to hold her, to kiss her, but he can't. He wants to tell her how much he loves her, how much he wishes things could be different. But it would be wrong. He thinks it would hurt her. She has been hurt too much.

"You need---for the baby's sake, you need to rest," he says, "I promise, I am not angry, vhenan."

When he calls her vhenan, she seems to relax a little. Falon'Din must have called her that when he was content, when he was pleased with her. It must have been so frequent, not hearing it is cause for alarm. He is going to be sick again. He has to fight to keep himself from emptying his stomach.

He helps her back into bed. He draws the blankets over her. 

There is a moment he touches her. She flinches, too quick, almost too quick to see it, but he does. He is causing her more stress. He is making it harder for her. She pretends so well, but she doesn't want him here. 

What is he supposed to do, he wonders, how can he help her? He can't fix what has happened. He can't change it. He wishes he had died with Falon'Din. It is what he deserves.

She shuts her eyes. She pretends to sleep.

He does the same, but then he feels the pulse of magic in him. He recognizes the sources. He doesn't just have June's power. He doesn't just have Mythal. He has Elgar'nan's, Ghilan'nain's, and Andruil's power. They are new. He is choked with it. It is spilling out of him, fighting him. Too much. Falon'Din took too much.

No wonder he was able to free himself from Falon'Din. Ellana healed him somehow and it threw off the balance. Falon'Din was already being pulled in so many directions. It gave the last bit Solas needed to gain the leverage to tear him apart. The forces will overwhelm Solas too, he thinks. He will have to decide what to do with them.

It gets worse when he sleeps. He feels drained. He feels dangerous.

He dreams of Falon'Din. He dreams of being torn apart and put back together again. He dreams of pain.

And when he wakes, he is ice cold. There is frost on his skin, his blanket. There is ice on the cushions under him.

 

The next day is spent removing vallaslin. He starts with Ellana's. He smiles. He tells her it will be alright now. She will be better now. 

She stares at him and waits. He can't guess what she's feeling, thinking. There is just the terrible blankness. Her eyes are dull.

She is no different when the spell is complete. She doesn't acknowledge it. 

His heart is breaking again. He had hoped there would be something. He had believed he could reach her this way. 

The People stand in a long line. They are too afraid to deny him, even though he says it's alright. Even though he says they don't have to do anything they don't want. He removes their vallaslin. All of them. And when he is done, he is so tired he can barely stand. 

He stumbles back to Ellana's room. He wonders why none of them have tried to kill him yet. Did Falon'Din truly inspire that much fear?

Ellana greets him with another kiss. He is too tired to stop her. She helps him into bed. She lays down beside him and he thinks he should not allow it. He should move to the couch again. He tries to, but she tenses up every time he moves. 

He knows why. He knows what it means. Falon'Din is a monster. He is glad he's gone.

As tired as he is, it takes forever to fall asleep.

Cole finds him when he does. Cole. He is still alive. He is well. He is aware of what has happened.

And he doesn't hate him. He isn't angry. There is only sadness. There is only pain.

"You're still hurt," Cole says, "But you are yourself again."

"The world is madness," Solas says, "I don't know what to do." He is afraid to ask about Nehnaise and Manadirth. He is afraid to find out. But Cole doesn't make him ask. He reads the question in his thoughts. He answer.

"They are fine," Cole says, "I kept them safe. We will come. I will help."

The relief he feels is so sudden and so strong Solas feels a little lightheaded. The children are not dead. Falon'Din hasn't harmed them.

Maybe Ellana will come back to herself when she sees them again. Maybe.

Her people are gone. There is no one left but Cole. There is no one else he can turn to. 

But Cole will help. Solas almost thinks he could. 

 

He wraps himself around her in the night. He doesn't mean to. He wants to keep as much distance as he can between them. He tries.

But he is drawn to her. He is so cold and she is so very warm. When he sleeps, he can't stop himself.

He dreams about terrible things. His nightmares are more like hazy memories. He sees familiar people and places. He sees Ellana---he is a monster and he hurts her. Over and over again. He listens to her screams. Over and over again. There is so much death. There is too much pain.

When he wakes, his hand is on her stomach. He feels the ripple of something just under the skin. Something small, something he doesn't want to think about yet. His lips are pressed to her hair. She is tense, so very tense. There is no question she is awake and afraid he's going to force himself on her the way Falon'Din always did. He should have insisted he move to the couch. He should not have allowed this.

He pulls away. He sees her face---he sees her eyes snap shut. He sees her pretend to be asleep. He will not let himself sleep beside her again. This will not happen. 

"I apologize," he says, "I didn't mean to---I wouldn't have---I---"

"There is nothing to apologize for, vhenan," she says, "Ar lath ma. I am yours."

But her voice is dull, dead. It is empty. 

"I am Solas," he says, "Falon'Din is gone. You don't have to pretend. Please, Ellana. I am Solas."

"Of course, emma lath," she says, and he thinks it is meant to be soothing, "Of course."

She says whatever she thinks he wants to hear. She does whatever she thinks he wants her to do. He can't reach her. He can't find her. He doesn't deserve to. 

All of this, everything, it is his fault.

 

He makes himself look at the statues. No. Not statues. People, he reminds himself, her people. 

He recognizes Sera. Of course it would be her. And Mahariel. He knows his face. The Hero of Fereldan, the man who troubled him for so long before Falon'Din took control. He doesn't really know the others. Names come to him, but he doesn't know much more than that.

But Sera is gone. She is stone. Ellana must have watched it happen. No wonder he can't reach her. No wonder she is so afraid.

Abelas finds him like this. Staring into Sera's sightless eyes. 

"There are decisions to be made," Abelas says.

"Yes," Solas says, "But I do not have the right to make them."

Abelas is quiet. He looks at the dead and his expression is grim. Solas is glad he doesn't argue. He doesn't have the energy to fight. He has failed them all. He has lost any right to walk among them.

"You should lead them," Solas says. He has experience. He has friends who will follow him. He hasn't hurt the People like Solas has. He hasn't let them down. 

"I am not fit to lead," Abelas says, "I knew what would happen. I knew we were no match for Falon'Din, but I didn't stop us."

"You are more suitable than I," Solas says, anyone would be. Anyone would be better.

"No," Abelas says, and he sounds weary. He looks worse. 

"Perhaps Morrigan then," Solas says, "Perhaps---" But Abelas sighs. He looks like he should be sitting down. He has not regained enough of his strength for this.

"She has already gone," Abelas says, "She couldn't bear it here any longer. She meant to speak with you but..."

"I understand," he says, he is not sad to see her gone, but she could have helped, "Cole is coming here with...with the children."

Abelas looks surprised.

"You are aware of them?"

"Falon'Din took great joy in telling me," he says, "He---I don't know how---"

The words are a jumble in his head. It is hard to piece them together. He is nervous, afraid---he is certain something terrible will happen. He knows Falon'Din is gone, but a part of him thinks he will return, claw his way back to existence.

Ellana can't take care of the children. Not like she is now. And he doesn't think he will be much better. They deserve better. They deserve everything. 

He has failed them too. 

"You will be fine," Abelas says, "Because there is no choice. You must be."

"Ellana is---she is---"

Abelas sighs again.

"I know," Abelas says, and his gaze shifts to one of the cursed elves. Solas thinks it was the man who called himself the White Wolf. He thinks the lines on his face were lyrium tattoos. He thinks that must be who he is.

"She has lost much," Abelas says, "Give her time." And there is something strange in his voice. There is something terrible in his eyes.

Something twists in Solas' gut. He looks at Abelas and suddenly he knows. His breath hitches. Ellana wasn't just this man's friend. They were more. They were together. He was her vhenan, he thinks. And Falon'Din made her watch while he took him away from her. He hadn't thought it could get any worse, but that alone has done it. She has lost the man she loves. No doubt she was forced to watch by the monster inhabiting Solas' body. She deserves better. She deserves to be with her love, this Fenris. She deserves only good things in her life. She deserves more than this. 

Solas wants to die. His body has been used for too much evil, he doesn't know how he can begin to counter act it. He should go now. He should never come back, never trouble her again. She should never have to look at him again.

But there is too much to do. He can't leave.

They will have to think about the coming winter. They will have to decide whether to stay or take shelter elsewhere. They will have to gather enough food to sustain them. She will need someone to help her with the birth. He can not just leave them to it.

And he has too much power coursing through him. He needs to purge it or he will lose himself. 

He needs to be strong for her. He can't afford to fall apart. 

 

Ellana doesn't leave her room. He tells her she can, she should, but she doesn't unless he takes her hand and leads her. She is like a quiet wraith. A spirit.

She barely talks and she never starts a conversation. She will only answer his questions. She will not volunteer anything. Not even how she's feeling. She won't say anything even when she is ill.

She doesn't read. He brings books from the small collection Falon'Din kept. She won't touch them. She won't do anything. She sits and looks out the window. She stares at nothing.

They need to talk about the child, but he doesn't know how. He doesn't know where to begin. 

She doesn't really look at him. She looks through him. She sees Falon'Din and not Solas. Never Solas.

He claims one of the empty rooms. He moves some of the clothes that fit him, that aren't quite so gaudy or elaborate. Ellana says nothing when she sees him. She tenses up, afraid again, but she is quiet. She looks out the window and pretends she's unconcerned.

He can not crowd her. If she is to heal, she needs to be away from him. She needs to be able to relax. For her sake, for the baby's. She can't do that if he's here all the time.

He brings her meals. He tries to find things she used to like but the food stores are not as full as he'd like. She eats the way she does everything. Automatically, with no acknowledgment, no hint of enjoyment. She eats because she has to, and that is all.

His heart is broken. He doesn't think it will ever mend.

 

He tries not to look at his body. Falon'Din has marked it. There are tattoos across his back and shoulders, his arms. His stomach is flatter, harder, the muscles more defined. Physically, he is stronger. Mentally, he feels like he's riddled with scars and partially mended fissures.

He doesn't recognize himself. 

It makes his hands shake. It makes him tremble and he can't catch his breath. 

And then, he is even more ashamed, because this is nothing compared to Abelas' scars. He shouldn't be so disturbed, but he is, all the same. He is horrified every time he sees himself. He can't stand his own face. He can't.

He tears down the portraits of Falon'Din and Dirthamen. There are so many. He destroys the statues Falon'Din made of himself and Ellana. He destroys the tapestries he finds. Some of the People help. Some of them aren't quite so afraid of him now, so they say. Some of them even claim to understand.

They can see the difference even if he doesn't know how they can bear to look. 

He wonders if they're only saying it because they still fear him. They don't want to risk defying him. He is too powerful, too terrible. He would not be surprised.

He thinks about leaving. He thinks about uthenera. He tells himself Abelas would take care of Ellana. He would help her until she found herself again. To stay is selfish.

Uthenera. 

Which is worse, he wonders, to be selfish or to be a coward? If he leaves, he is leaving her alone to pick up the pieces. He is leaving the children. He is abandoning Abelas. 

He can not abandon them. No matter how much he wishes he could. He owes them everything. He does.

 

Ellana sits in the Fade in a field of flowers and she is radiant. Some of the flowers are spirits. Some of them are broken. But in her light, they are all beautiful.

She doesn't greet him but she looks up. He sees fear again. Anger. It only last a moment, but he knows it was real. She is still in there. She is still herself under all this pain.

He kneels beside her. He should have tried to come sooner, but he was afraid of what he would find. This isn't so terrible. It is only flowers. It is only spirits. It is only her.

She is so beautiful. 

"Tell me what to do," he says, he pleads, "Tell me how to help you."

She doesn't. She can't.

"I am not Falon'Din," he tries again, "You know me. My name is Solas. You saved me." What will it take? When will she see him? How can he convince her?

He takes her hand. He holds it. He presses it to his cheek and he wants to pretend they are somewhere else. He wants to pretend she is whole and he didn't ruin everything. He wants to kiss her cheek and tell her how much he loves her, how sorry he is, how much he wishes he could take it all back.

"I am Solas," he says again.

Please, he thinks.

But she doesn't believe him. She doesn't care.


	53. Bound: To Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is so much pain between them.
> 
> Heavy angst. Trigger warning for depression and suicidal thoughts.

When Cole finds her, Ellana is sitting in a meadow in the Fade. There are so many flowers but all of them are dull and grey. They are like stone. If she touches them, they crack and crumble and turn to dust.

She can't restore them, no matter how she tries.

Cole sits beside her but she wishes he wouldn't. She would rather be alone. It is better that way. It is safer. 

"You shouldn't be here," she says. Falon'Din could find him. He could hold him here and force him to tell where he has hidden Neria and Mahanon. She can't let that happen. No. 

They are all that's left of her. As long as they are safe, this hell is worth it. 

"I want to help," he says, "It's safe now. I'm coming to you."

It is the worst thing he could do. Falon'Din is strange now. Unpredictable. She doesn't know what he'd do to him. 

"You can't help," she says. She knows how it will end for him if he tries. She doesn't know if he can be turned to stone---he is a spirit, but spirits can die. She has seen it. Falon'Din doesn't understand mercy.

When she looks at him, she can see his distress. He will not be swayed by words. 

"He is Solas again," Cole says, "It's not a trick."

She doesn't want to listen, but he is hard to drown out. He makes her wonder. He makes her doubt and it is cruel. She can't bear to hope. The moment she accepts it as the truth, the mask will fall away. Falon'Din will laugh at her. He'll find a new game to amuse himself.

She can't live an eternity like this.

"Go away, Cole," she says.

She stares at the flowers and she pretends she's not breaking. She pretends she is a hollowed out space in a shell of ice. Nothing can hurt her. No one. She almost believes the lie but then she remembers the way Fenris' face looked just before the end. She gets a flash of it and there is nothing inside her but pain.

Cole doesn't go, but he is quiet. He stares at her and she stares at the flowers. They wait for the night to end.

 

Solas tries to talk to her again. He knocks on her door, his mind racing while he waits for her to open it. Her footsteps are soft, careful, but also quick.

He doesn't wait long.

When he sees her face, for just an instant, he sees something there, something a bit like concern. But then, it's gone. Her face goes blank. She gives him that same terrible, bland smile.

"I've missed you, vhenan," she says.

She starts to kiss him, stretches up on her toes even though she is unsteady. He grips her arms, stops her. He doesn't want her like this. Never like this.

If he had known, if he had only known what Falon'Din would do, he would have never---he would have let her go when she first asked. He would have given her everything she wanted. He never wanted this. He never.

"Please sit, Ellana. We need to talk," he says.

"Of course," she says. She doesn't quite look at him. She looks past him, her gaze shifting inward---she doesn't really see him. 

She sits on one of the hideous chairs. She folds her hands in her lap and waits and he can't stand it. This is not the woman he remembers. The inquisitor, his heart. 

His fault. Everything.

He takes a breath---he doesn't know where to start, what to say, but he makes himself sit across from her. He takes another breath, and still, the words don't come. Where is it? How can he even begin? She isn't really here.

He needs Cole for this. He would know what to do. He always does.

"We need to decide," he says, "What to do when the---when the baby comes. Cole is bringing the---he's bringing Neria and Mahanon. When they arrive, we need to have an answer. It wouldn't be wise to try to weather the winter."

"Do you want," he starts, "If you want me to go, I will. Abelas and Cole will keep you safe until you are---until you're..." Better, he thinks. Until you're yourself again. But he can't say it. Her mask cracks. He sees terror. He sees so much of it in her eyes when he tells her Neria and Mahanon are coming here.

She is still in there. She isn't lost. 

But she fears him. She hates him. She believes he is someone else. 

Her friends should be here. Not him. She would do better with Sera, with---with Fenris. Anyone else. And they are gone. He has cost her everything.

"If we wait much longer, you won't be able to ride," he says.

She says nothing. She forces her face to go blank again. 

He can't keep doing this to her. He has to leave. His presence is a hindrance. Abelas will understand. Cole will have to accept it. Perhaps uthenera would be best. Perhaps this time, it should be permanent.

"Whatever you think is best," she says when he stands. 

There is an edge to her voice. Not much. Just enough to give her away. 

"I'm not Falon'Din," he says before he retreats.

She meets his gaze for just a moment, but all he sees is hate.

 

The truth hits her when she watches him draw. He sits with a stick of charcoal in hand, one leg tucked under him. The lines on the page are smooth and careful. They are light and precise and his fingers so quick.

This is not a style Falon'Din can fake. His sketches were always heavy and wild and fierce. Obsessive. His favorite subject was her or Dirthamen or even himself. But now, he draws everything---people long dead and places lost. Arlathan and Orlais. Skyhold and Haven. 

And when he sketches her, her face is soft. She is so full of peace and light. She doesn't remember how to smile like that, how to mean it.

She feels another crack in her shell. Her chest hurts and she has to take short breaths to keep from panicking. She shakes and he notices.

He looks up, concern etched on his face.

"Ellana?" he asks. He moves as if to touch her, but stops himself. He pulls back as if he's been burned. He looks afraid.

Falon'Din would never be like this. He couldn't.

"I'm fine," she says. He draws like Solas, like he is Solas.

She isn't fine. He can't be Solas. Falon'Din destroyed him. He tore him apart and stole his body. This is just another game he's playing. It must be.

But Falon'Din has never been this clever. He is not patient enough, not careful enough. He already has her, there is no need for games. The thought strikes her and she can't look away.

She knows now. He wasn't lying. He is Solas. 

Somehow.

She thinks she is going to cry or scream because she feels too much. She is going to explode, but then, a strange calm settles over her. She feels nothing again and it is almost pleasant. He is Solas and she is safe. Her children are safe. Everyone is safe.

It is over.

She breathes. She sits back. She looks out the window because the concern on his face tugs at her. She doesn't want it to. She doesn't want to feel.

Everything that happened was her fault. If she had left well enough alone---

No. She won't follow that line of thought. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters.

"If I'm disturbing you," Solas says, "I can go---" She hears so much guilt in his voice, fear, despair. She spares him a glance and notes his face is much like his voice. His emotions ripple and surge and they are terrible.

"I'm fine, Solas," she says. 

The charcoal snaps in half. It drags across the page. He stares at her so hard, as if he can't fathom what she just said. She doesn't understand until she realizes what she called him, not vhenan, not Falon'Din, but Solas. 

He has been pleading with her for days to believe him. And now she does. And now he knows she does.

He drops the charcoal on the paper and buries his face in his palms. He shudders. She hears a wild sound wrench from him. She doesn't know why he's crying but he is.

She looks out the window again. She says nothing more.

 

The days run together. His thoughts of uthenera are a constant companion. Perhaps it would be best. He shouldn't be here, alive, safe, whole. He doesn't have the right.

Ellana calls him Solas, now. Something has changed. She believes him.

But she is the same blank mask, the same terrible coldness. He doesn't see hatred in her eyes. He doesn't see anything. She is so empty. She is like the Tranquil.

If he had left the world as he found it, none of this would have happened. If he hadn't torn down the Veil, if he hadn't taken dangerous magic into himself, she wouldn't be a shadow. She would be herself. She would smile and she would mean it.

Abelas stops him from leaving. Twice, he packs a bag and saddles a horse, ready to ride. But then Abelas catches him. He stops him with a look. He stares at him and all he feels is shame.

"Running solves nothing," Abelas tells him, "Stay."

_Stay._ He would not have thought Abelas could be so forgiving. Solas doesn't have the right to be here with her. His presence is likely hurting her. To have to see this face, to have to hear this voice---he can only imagine what it must be like for her. He can not afford to be selfish. He must think of what she needs, what the baby needs. They would all be better off without him. 

The People start to leave a few at a time. He doesn't know where they go, doesn't care to ask. They still fear him, hate him. They see only the monster who wore this form and he can't blame them.

Only Abelas stays. Abelas and Ellana and a small number of sentinels---none of whom have any experience with child birth. If Solas leaves now, he doesn't know who would tend to Ellana. Her life would be at risk. She could die if there are complications and no one recognizes the signs.

A small part of him wonders if Abelas arranged this to keep him here. But he knows. Abelas is not that unkind. 

The only refuge he finds is his art. Even the Fade has forsaken him. It is dark and terrible and his control isn't what it should be. The nightmares keep him awake. He drinks bitter tea and sits by the fire long into the night. He draws to calm himself.

He doesn't have paint and he is too tired to try to mix dry ingredients to make the right pigment. He uses charcoal and ink, not his first choice or even his second, but it is all he has. 

Ellana catches him with a half finished portrait of Dorian. In the past it would have made her angry. She couldn't bear to see the faces of her lost friends, to be reminded of what he had taken from her. But now, she doesn't react. She sits to watch him and he is unnerved.

"How are you feeling?" he asks. He tries to keep his voice even, calm, but it is difficult. He feels like there are cracks inside of him, places that tear open every time he sees her.

"I am well," she says.

They don't talk about the child or what she needs from him, what she wants. God help him, but he is a coward. He is afraid to broach the subject again. He is afraid of so many things.

"Are you cold?" he asks.

"I am fine," she says.

He doesn't know what else to say. He tries to finish the sketch, but he can't bear it. He sees Dorian's eyes and he can almost hear his voice, the accusations. He would have laid the blame on Solas' shoulders and he would have been right.

Dorian would have known how to help her. Perhaps they would have stopped Falon'Din sooner. 

He flips to another page, past the sketch of Cassandra, past Blackwall and Josephine, past another of Ellana. He finds a blank sheet and tries to conjure up a more neutral image. A place, perhaps. A city or a ruin. Something that holds little meaning.

But Ellana is staring at his hands and he catches himself drawing the familiar outline of Skyhold's walls, the tower---he tries to change it, make it something new and unfamiliar, but his fingers won't cooperate. He draws it the way it was the first day he returned, when he showed Ellana the path through the snow.

It was home, once. When they were happy. 

Perhaps they should return. Perhaps it will stir something in her---but no. The thought sits heavy inside him. Falon'Din has tainted Skyhold's memory. It is the place where it all fell apart. He can't expect her to go back. He won't ask her to.

No. If they are to leave, they must find some place he hasn't touched. Somewhere new. Somewhere they can start fresh...

The charcoal lines blur. Something strikes the page. He sees a dark spot---his cheeks are wet, his eyes too hot. Another drop falls. And another.

He doesn't want this. He doesn't want to cry.

"Are you alright?" Ellana asks, her voice flat, emotionless.

"Of course," he says, "I am overtired, that is all." A half truth. He can tell she knows, but she doesn't press. She stands. She leaves him sitting, alone.

 

She dreams of the field of flowers again, the meadow. Some of the blossoms are not quite so grey, more a pale, dull blue. Some of them are not like stone. And when she tries to touch one of them, it doesn't crumble to dust. 

Strange, she thinks. She doesn't know what has changed. She doesn't understand why things are different. 

She is numb until she sees Cole. Then, all at once, there is too much pain. She can't bury it, she can't pretend it isn't burning the pit of her stomach. She dissolves into terrible, shuddering sobs. 

He drops beside her. He gets his arms around her and rests his forehead against her shoulder. She holds onto him. She can do nothing else.

"I know," he says.

"We're close," he says, "We'll be there in a few more days. Neria has a surprise for you. They miss you."

It makes her cry harder. Neria isn't old enough to have a surprise. She wonders, do they even remember her? She missed their first birthday. It has been months and months.

"They remember," Cole says.

But she doesn't want them to see her like this. They deserve better. They deserve a mother who is whole, who isn't so damaged. They need someone who can be happy.

"I'll help, if you want me to," Cole says, "I can take the worst of it away."

"You can forget," he says.

His voice seems to echo---she tightens her hold on him when he starts to pull back. There is a wild feeling, growing inside her. She could forget. He can take the memories away. She would feel better. She would _be_ better.

She won't have to remember _him._

She feels Cole go tense but she shuts her eyes. She wonders if he regrets the offer. She doesn't want to see his face. She doesn't want to change her mind.

It hurts to breathe but she tries. 

When she is steady again, she looks at Cole. She says, "Yes."


	54. Bound: The War Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is herself again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for suicidal thoughts

Supplies are low. They will have to leave sooner than he anticipated. They will have to decide. 

“I hope some of that is for you,” Abelas says. He lingers in the doorway, leaning heavily on his staff---he has had to resort to carrying one. The healing has been slow. There is still so much pain.

The tray is for Ellana. She needs to eat more---better. It is a struggle just to keep her healthy. She doesn't care about anything anymore. She is a shell. 

Solas isn't hungry. He doesn't have an appetite. There is too much on his mind. 

Abelas' face goes dark. He misses little it seems. 

“Stop,” Abelas says, “Sit and eat something. Get some rest. Someone else will see to Ellana. You can't keep punishing yourself.” He walks toward him, he rests a heavy hand on his shoulder. He makes him look at him.

Solas tries to ignore him, but the man is relentless. He doesn't understand.

“You can not carry the blame,” Abelas says. 

“If not I, then who?” Solas asks, “It is my fault. Everything that has happened, every life lost, every injury sustained, everything---you are wrong. I am to blame for all of it.”

Abelas sighs. 

“You can not atone for his crimes,” Abelas says, “There is no value in starving yourself.”

“You have more magic than anyone in this world,” he continues, “You are risking all of us with this foolishness.”

It is like a slap to the face but he is right. Damn him, but he is. Solas has been putting off thinking about it. The magic is too much. His control is frayed. It is just a matter of time before it overwhelms him completely.

He needs to be rid of it. Elgar'nan's and Andruil's especially. They are worse than poison. 

He thinks of Ellana's friends and allies. He thinks of their stone faces, the horror frozen there for all eternity. He thinks of the man she loved, taken from her by the monster he created. How can he forgive himself? She is his world--- _was_ his world and he destroyed her. 

He does not deserve comfort or peace. 

He rearranges the tray for the fourth time. He moves the tea to the middle. He flanks it with egg and bread and butter and jam. There isn't much more than that. They need to seek out one of the cities. Perhaps she could return to Falon'Din's castle. There are people who would care for her, who would help her. They have food. 

Abelas grabs his wrist. 

“Are you even listening?” he asks, “Look at me. You can't continue on like this. Too many lives are at risk. If you lose yourself again---”

“There is no danger,” Solas says, “He is gone. If I lose myself, I will be the only one who suffers. I promise. I will die before I let anyone hurt you again.” He would die long before he let it happen. Or he will seek uthenera. Perhaps that is the only answer to this. He could sleep. He could finally be at peace.

And Ellana would never have to see him again. She could heal. She could be free.

Abelas tightens his hold when he tries to pull away. He looks into his eyes and his expression shifts. He looks as tired as Solas feels. He is just as weary.

“We have lost too many people already,” Abelas says, “Don't sacrifice yourself. Whether you believe me or not, you are needed.”

But Solas has had enough of this. He is wrong. He pulls away, he keeps his gaze fixed on the tray. His hands are not nearly as steady as they need to be.

“We will finish this discussion later,” he says. They will not. He will find a way to stop it. Abelas is too forgiving. He is too desperate. 

“Will we?” Abelas asks, and he gives him a hard look. It's as if he knows what Solas is thinking. 

But Solas doesn't care. It doesn't matter. Very little does.

 

He brings her breakfast and she can't stand the look on his face. 

“Solas,” she says, “Please, don't look at me like that. Everything is fine.”

He is startled out of it for a moment. He doesn't smile but some of the hopelessness fades. The tray in his hands shakes. The cup rattles, hot tea sloshing over the sides. He bats her hands away when she tries to take it from him.

She doesn't know what's wrong with him today but she doesn't like it. 

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“Wonderful all things considered,” she says, “I've been through this once before. I'm not going to break. Stop worrying.” She is trying to make him smile, but she fails. He is too entrenched in his misery.

It must be this place, she thinks. She knows he hasn't been sleeping. The sooner Cole gets here with Neria and Mahanon, the better. He is likely worrying too much about them too, but if anyone can keep them safe, it's Cole. And he promised her, they are only a few days away.

He sets the tray on the table. He pulls the chair out and waits for her to sit. This man, she thinks, he is being much too sweet. She really is fine.

He starts to move things from the tray to the table. He sets the cup of tea in front of her and he is just close enough. She kisses his cheek. She makes him jump.

He almost knocks the tea over. He jolts. He looks horrified, as if she's never kissed him like that before, as if he can't stand the touch of her lips. 

It stings. Surely she is not so repulsive now. Surely he isn't regretting the baby. 

But the look on his face...she feels her stomach drop. Something is very wrong.

“What's wrong?” she asks, “Tell me.”

He turns back to the tray, to the task of rearranging everything. He moves the tea away from him, to her left. He sets the eggs beside it but then changes his mind. He moves the to her right and then directly in front of her. He does the same with the bread. 

She grabs his wrist. She stops him from pulling away.

“Sit,” she says, “Talk to me. What's wrong?”

He looks like he's going to shatter. His nerves are frayed. He is wound too tightly. He is terrified, she realizes, of her. 

“I can't,” he says, “Please don't ask me again.”

“You are different today,” he says, “Why are you different?”

His voice cracks. He look into her eyes, searching. He can't be this worried about the baby. This is something else. She doesn't understand. They have been through so much, this can't be the thing that breaks him.

She is starting to feel very hurt.

“Is this about the baby?” she asks, “Solas, it's a little late for doubts.”

She may as well have been speaking Tevene. He stares. He stares as though he can't understand a word she has said.

“Solas?” she tries, “Please, what is it?”

He pulls away when she reaches for him. He is horrified again. He is worse.

“What have you done?” he asks, his voice rising, “This isn't you. This isn't---we aren't----you haven't---”

Something clicks. She sees the moment it all comes together for him. Whatever he's thinking, whatever path his mind has lead him down, he looks at her and his face changes. He understands. Whatever it is, he thinks he does.

He is scaring her.

“Cole,” he says, “Of course.”

“Yes, he's coming here,” she says, confused, and she wonders just how long it's been since he last slept. It is worse than she's realized.

“He made you forget,” he says, “He tried to help you.”

He gives her a watery smile---he is relieved. He sinks down into one of the chairs, finally. He rests his head on his hands. He sits there and just breathes.

She is glad he feels better but really he has lost his mind. She hasn't forgotten anything. Cole wouldn't play with her memories like that. He wouldn't.

“You need to get some sleep,” she says.

He laughs. When she stands, he doesn't move. He doesn't pull away when she wraps her arms around him. He cries and it is terrible.

Somehow, she convinces him to sleep. He doesn't fight her when she pulls him to his feet, when she urges him into bed. He doesn't seem to care or really notice. She pulls the covers around him and lays beside him. She holds him until he drifts off.

It seems like forever.

He doesn't wake when she moves, when she ventures out into the hallway. She hunts for Abelas because they have to come to an understanding. Solas is under too much stress. He can't be expected to take care of anything right now. If there are decisions to be made, she will make them. She and Abelas. Solas will rest whether he wants to or not.

She hopes Cole gets here soon. 

 

When he wakes, it is dark. There is only a lonely wisp floating over head. And Ellana is beside him, reading quietly. He tries to sit up, to put distance between them, but he is still so very tired. His head swims. He is dizzy.

“Don't,” she says, her voice sharp, “You are making yourself ill. You are staying in bed.”

He can't. He can't. She pushes him back down when he sits up. He feels so weak. He can't fend her off. 

She levels a glare at him.

“Abelas told me everything,” she says, “You are not moving from that spot. If you're hungry, I'll get you something.”

He can't remember the last thing he ate. Perhaps that is why he's dizzy. Perhaps he could retreat if he ate something. Perhaps she wouldn't hold him here.

“I'm sorry,” he says, “I do not want to worry you.” It is the last thing he wants. He has done far too much already.

“Yes, well, you are,” she says.

She sets her book aside. She stares at the ceiling. She has that look he knows all too well. The way her forehead wrinkles, the lines at the corners of her mouth, the twitch of her lip---she is furious. She is fighting to stay calm.

He hadn't thought he would see her like this again. She is the way she was before. She is the woman he remembers. She had to forget to find herself again and it is his fault. 

He is the worst thing for her. He needs to go.

“I'm sorry,” he says again.

He is. More than she will ever know.

“We haven't talked about names,” she says, “I thought you would like to.”

He doesn't know what to say. They haven't talked about this. They haven't been able to.

“I named Neria and Mahanon,” she says, “I think it's only fair you name this one.”

As if he deserves to. As if he belongs in their life. How does he tell her? How can he explain?He tries to sit up again. He tries to make the room stop spinning.

“You would not want me here if you knew the truth,” he says, “I hurt you. My actions caused---”

She cuts him off.

“I don't care,” she says.

“You should. You will.”

“Later, maybe,” she says, “But I don't have the time or energy to waste fretting. This baby is what matters. Neria and Mahanon are what matters. Whatever wrong you think you've committed, it will have to wait until things have settled down.”

“We don't have enough food to stay here,” she says, “That is our biggest concern.” 

She is right. Abelas is right. 

It hurts to breathe, to think, to look at her. He has wanted to see her like this again. He thought he never would. She is strong but when she knows the truth again, and she will know, he can't bear the thought of her falling back. It is just a matter of time.

She is better without him.

But he can't fight her. He can't do anything right now. He lays back against the pillows. He shuts his eyes.

“You are right,” he says, “We'll decide---”

“We've already decided,” she says, “Abelas and I. Once Cole arrives, we'll wait a day to give them time to rest. Then, we'll set out. There's a safe house nearby. Abelas says it's fairly well stocked. We can stay there for a while.”

A safe house. He wonders how Abelas explained it. He wonders just how much Cole took away. Does she even remember why she's here?

“Very well,” he says. He thinks it is terrible how relieved he is not to have to make that decision. He shouldn't be glad she has taken it on herself. But he is glad. She is herself again.

“Now go to sleep,” she says, her voice hard.

She kisses his cheek again. She doesn't smile. 

 

She is sick when Abelas tells her the truth. Cole truly has taken parts of her memory. He has taken more than just parts. He has erased months, he has erased actual people. He has made her forget so many things.

The life like statues she glimpsed are not statues. They are allies. They were friends. They were so much more.

Abelas wears his sorrow on his face. He doesn't hide it. He leans on his staff and he looks older than she has ever seen him. He tells her their names. He tells her too much but it feels like he's leaving something out. There are gaps in his explanation. There are details missing.

The world is worse than she imagined it could be. No wonder Solas is broken. No wonder he can't bear to look at her. 

No wonder. 

Solas is asleep again. It is a small miracle. 

She feels hollow when she looks at him. She wishes she could cry.


	55. Bound: A Measure of Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are ready to leave the temple behind them.

The change in Solas is impossible to ignore. She sees nothing of his confidence, his surety. His sleep is not serene. It is tortured.

The worst of it eases when she drapes an arm around his waist. Whether he means to or not, he leans into her. He turns toward her in the night. He rests a hand on her hip and she is wide awake and thinking too much.

He talks in his sleep. He apologizes over and over again. The words slur together, and it is hard to understand him at first, but eventually, she realizes what he's trying to say.

_I'm sorry. I should have known. I should have saved you._

Abelas hasn't told her everything. He has implied and alluded to certain things. He has danced around others. But from what she gathered, Solas is not to blame. He was every bit a victim of Falon'Din's cruelty.

She still can't wrap her head around it. 

A part of her doesn't believe she would have wanted Cole to erase friends from her memory. Not people she cared about, no matter how grief stricken she was, no matter how painful her broken heart. She suspects he did it on his own. He didn't understand. There are things she wishes she knew. She thinks she would understand what was going on inside Solas head if she could remember.

_It is my fault. It is all my fault._ There is too much despair. She doesn't know how to reach him, how to ease his conscience. He didn't do this to her. He didn't hurt her. It isn't his fault.

"It's just a dream," she says, "You haven't done anything wrong."

She doesn't know if he hears her, if he understands her, and he doesn't wake. He pulls her closer, until the heat of his breath is on her face and she is uncomfortable.

Still, she doesn't want to move. 

The world is not how it's supposed to be, but he's still here. Being with him still makes sense, even like this. Even now. She is so afraid sometimes. She thinks she'll look away and he'll be gone. She will be left alone to pick up the pieces again

She doesn't want to do this alone. She wants her children to know their father. 

Eventually, she drifts off, and when she wakes, she is alone. She feels a spike of panic, because the sheets beside her are cold. He woke early and has been gone a while.

But she should not have worried.

He brings breakfast again. He sits with her and pretends to eat more than just a few bites. His hands are steady--- _he_ is steady. It isn't enough to make her believe everything is alright, but it's a start.

She is glad because she doesn't know how much more of this she can take. 

 

Solas is not prepared when Cole arrives. He rides Ellana's undead horse, Griffin, and with him, riding on the back of another undead horse, is a woman Ellana calls Niala. He sees Mahanon and Neria and his heart stops.

They are here and they are real and they are safe. Falon'Din will never see them again.

Ellana lets out a strangled cry. She doesn't wait for the horses to stop. She runs to them. She doesn't watch where she's going. She just runs and Solas almost chokes on his fears. She could fall. She could trip. She could hurt herself.

He doesn't know what he'd do if that happened. 

When Cole and the woman dismount, Ellana hesitates. She looks from face to face as if she doesn't know what to do. She wants to hold her children but she doesn't. He is surprised. It isn't like her to hesitate.

"Don't worry," Cole says, "They remember."

Oh. That makes more sense. She doesn't want to frighten them, Solas realizes.

Ellana holds out her arms and she is terrified. She looks as if her heart hangs, suspended outside her chest---one wrong move will make it fall, make it shatter. Neria hesitates. She looks at Cole and then back at Ellana. The silence stretches on, and then all at once, she whimpers.

She reaches for Ellana and then Solas knows she worried needlessly. Of course, Cole would find a way to ease their pain, to help them remember. Of course. 

Ellana shuts her eyes and holds her. And then Mahanon is reaching for her too. She tries to hold them both and it is a terrible idea. They are too big, too heavy. Someone should help. He feels the swell of fear again, overwhelming. It threatens to choke him.

Cole is gone the moment his arms are free. He knows they need to talk but it doesn't stop him. He vanishes. He hides.

Solas tries to breathe. He tries to convince himself everything is fine now. And then, he sees a tiny face, glaring at him. He is being watched.

Neria---he sees much of himself in her, her eyes, her nose, the expression she wears. She looks at him like she thinks he's going to turn into a something foul and unspeakable. She locks her arms around Ellana's neck and sort of grunts as she turns away. He feels utterly dismissed.

Mahanon is different though. He is delighted to be here, delighted to see Solas---he is just plain delighted.

He babbles at each of the sentinels, at Abelas, at anyone who comes close enough to get his attention. Solas tries to keep out of his line of sight, but he has underestimated the child's stubbornness. Mahanon points, insistently. Neria babbles something at him but he is not deterred.

He points and he leans and he strains to reach him, hands flexing. His eyes are so like Ellana's, how can Solas refuse? But he must. He can't let them get used to him, care about him---it will be more painful in the long run. It would be unkind.

Ellana gives Solas an odd look. He can't guess what it means. He doubts she knows what he's thinking.

"Would you hold him, Solas?" she asks, "Please. I'm afraid two is too much for me right now."

He is hit by another wave of guilt. She should not be carrying them. Not both of them. He should have swallowed his discomfort and offered immediately. He doesn't know why he didn't. He doesn't know what's wrong with him.

"Of course," he says, "I'm sorry. Of course."

Mahanon grins when he takes him from Ellana. He pats his face and touches his head like it is the most fascinating thing he has ever seen. He strings nonsense syllables together and looks at Solas like it's a perfectly understandable question. Mahanon's hands are sticky and gritty and Solas doesn't want to think about why.

Mahanon repeats his strange question. Solas is uncertain if the boy is asking why he has no hair or if he's asking something else entirely. Either way, Solas doesn't know how to respond. He is terrified.

He thinks his smile must be unconvincing because Mahanon narrows his eyes at him. He tilts his head to the side. He seems to be studying him for weaknesses. Well, he's in luck, there are so many to choose from right now.

"I think he's asking what happened to your hair," Ellana says, "Da'len, Papae doesn't have any."

Mahanon arches an eyebrow and babbles back at her. Another question. But Solas is stuck on what she called him. Papae. It twists in his gut. This is his son. That is his daughter. Their children and he is going to have to step back, say good bye. They are both---they are---

He has a lump in his throat. It is too hard to swallow.

"I can't believe how big you both are. I missed you so much," Ellana says. She kisses Neria's cheek and leans in to kiss Mahanon's. The boy shifts away. He wraps his arms around Solas' neck and squeezes too tight and shrieks in Solas' ear. His laughter is shrill and terrible.

"Silly boy," Ellana says, smiling. She is so beautiful. This is too difficult. It is too painful. 

Solas can't smile. He feels like he's a fraud. He has no right to be here. This happiness doesn't belong to him. He thinks of Fenris, the one who should be here, the one who would if not for him. He thinks of Sera. He thinks of everyone his body has hurt and he can't breathe. Mahanon is still laughing and Solas feels like a monster.

He catches Niala staring at him. He can tell she wants to snatch Mahanon out of his arms. She doesn't like Solas, doesn't trust him, doesn't want him here. He doesn't remember her but he thinks if he looks through the memories Falon'Din left behind, he'll know why.

He doesn't want to know.

"Cole said Neria has a surprise for me," Ellana says, she turns to Niala. There is still no sign of Cole, but Solas can tell he's still here. He can sense him. Feel him. he is somewhere listening. Watching. Analyzing all the ways this will go wrong. No doubt he will do something to make it worse.

"Oh yes. She's been busy," Niala says, "She'll show you soon enough."

"Maybe after her nap," Ellana says.

"It's about that time," she agrees. 

But at the word 'nap', Mahanon goes tense. 

"No," Mahanon says, "No, no, no, no." He tries to climb over Solas' shoulders. He has to struggle to keep him from falling.

Niala lets out a breath. She tries to take him, but Mahanon clings to Solas as if he will stop the inevitable. As if he possibly could. Mahanon must know something Solas doesn't though, because Niala gives up too soon.

"He's been a terror about sleeping," she says, "I suspect he'll wear you out. Would you like me to help?"

"What do you think, Mahanon? Do you want Niala to help with nap time?" Ellana asks.

His answer is unintelligible. But it is clear what he thinks of all this. He would rather play. He would rather go from person to person, confounding everyone he can in as little time as possible. He looks at Solas beseechingly and he feels lost.

"He doesn't seem tired," he says, "Perhaps it can wait."

Niala doesn't argue but Solas can tell she isn't fond of the idea or him. He has overstepped. He is not the one who has spent the last few months caring for the children. What does he know? Nothing. He knows nothing. He shouldn't interfere. 

"Perhaps it can," Ellana says, "But Neria is ready for hers. Aren't you, my sweet?"

Neria tightens her hold and rubs her face on her shoulder. 

"Are you alright to carry her?" Solas asks, and much to his dismay, Mahanon gets a fist full of his shirt stuffed in his mouth. He chews on it, saliva soaking through. Solas thinks he should stop him, but he doesn't dare.

It is disgusting.

But Mahanon is happy enough.

"I'm fine," Ellana and she smiles.

It all changes when one of the sentinels tries to lead Niala away, to show her where she can rest. Mahanon wails. He wants nothing more to do with Solas or Ellana. He reaches for NIala, he strains, he cries until he is almost choking. It is Niala or nothing.

Niala looks like she's going to cry. And so does Ellana. 

"It's alright, I'll be back," Niala says, "I'm not going far. You're safe with your Mamae."

"Perhaps you should take him," Solas says. The boy is so very small but it is a struggle to hold onto him. Niala doesn't argue. She looks relieved. She does take him.

"I think someone is tired after all," she says. She pats his back. He sniffles and sighs and turns his head just enough to look at Solas. He chews on his finger and then he's grinning again.

He is the strangest child, Solas thinks, but he is also wonderful. He and Neria both. Despite everything that has happened, they have survived. They are strong like their mother. He hopes when they're grown they are as kind as she is. He hopes they are happy.

Ellana stays with Niala. She is unwilling to let either child out of her sight again. 

He tells himself they will be fine. They are with people who will care for them, who will help them. Ellana has friends. After the baby comes, he can rest knowing she won't need him.

They will be better off without him. He knows that now.

 

She finds Solas in the morning while the sentinels are tending to the harts and the horses. They are preparing a wagon for travel, so the children can be more comfortable. And Abelas. He is recovering from an injury---he hasn't said what it is or was, but it still pains him.

For once, Solas's smile reaches his eyes. He seems different today, happier. He is calmer.

She has brought Neria along---she clings to her closer than Ellana's shadow. She watches Solas, her eyes round, wary. But when he smiles at her, she wavers. She gives him the smallest smiles before she turns her head away, before she burrows into Ellana's chest.

"We are almost ready," he says, "Are you hungry? I can pull something from the wagon if you'd like."

"We're fine, aren't we, Neria? We had something already," she says, "You seem well rested this morning. How are you?"

"I feel much better," he says "You were right, vhenan, I needed rest."

The way he says vhenan makes her shiver. She doesn't know why but it doesn't make her feel good. It should. She knows it should, but it nags at her all the same.

She kisses his cheek and she is pleased he doesn't pull away. He doesn't look horrified. He shuts his eyes and sighs, his face suddenly, beautifully soft, carefree. Neria isn't pleased. She swipes at him when he leans in just a little too close. She tries to push him away. She looks repulsed.

"My apologies, Neria," he says, "I did not intend to invade your space." Ellana recognizes the look Neria gives him. It is the same face Solas makes when drinking tea. It makes them both laugh and that is another strange thing. She hasn't heard genuine laughter from Solas is ages. She sees real mirth. He is happy again.

She is so relieved she thinks she might need to sit. She is a little light headed. She has been so worried. 

"I'd like to ride with you in the wagon," he says, "If that's alright?"

He is silly. He doesn't have to ask. 

"Of course it's alright," she says, "You are in an interesting mood today." That feeling of wrongness nags at her again. And how strange is that? Being alarmed because someone is happy---she isn't making any sense.

"We are finally leaving," he says, "I hadn't realized how heavy this place weighed on my mind. I will be glad to put it behind us."

She lets out the breath she hadn't known she was holding. His smile is beautiful. She can't remember the last time he was like this. He is himself again. This is the man she knows, the man she fell in love with.

Maybe it's a sign, she thinks. Maybe things are finally getting better.

She dares to hope.


	56. Bound: Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She doesn't feel right.

The safe house is not big enough. They cram together---three and four to a room. The rest of the space is taken up by supplies. Abelas wasn't lying when he said there would be enough to last the winter.

Solas knows this is a mistake but he shares a room with Ellana and the children. He tells himself he'll sleep on the floor. He'll keep space between them. But he relents the first night when she looks at him like he has just struck her. 

She doesn't understand. She doesn't remember. He can not take advantage of that.

"You have moved on," he tells her, "You are in love with someone else." Because she is. Even if she can't remember, he knows she is. No matter what Cole has done, he can't change it.

"I don't remember him," she says, "I'm not trying to---I don't want anything you don't want to give me. This is just sleep. Actual sleep." There aren't enough beds. She is hurt again. Always because of him. She seems so offended at the thought of letting him sleep on the floor. But it is better than he deserves.

"What---what was his name?" she asks.

Abelas hasn't told her, he realizes, and he is surprised. Abelas has left the uncomfortable conversation for him. He has avoided it somehow. But it is fitting. Solas should be the one to tell her. He should be the one to feel the brunt of her anger. 

"His name was Fenris," he says. He looks for a spark of recognition. Anything. Something. But her face stays blank. His name doesn't trigger her memory.

"Which one was he?" she asks.

She is thinking of the statues. She is trying to remember. She is searching for the truth, and she is angry when she can't find it. He sees it in the way she squares her shoulders, the way her lips thin and her eyes narrow. Cole shouldn't have done this. He shouldn't have taken so much. If he had just blocked the traumatic memories, she could have grieved for her friends. She has the right to that grief.

They were her friends. They loved her. They deserve to be mourned.

Solas feels like everything he touches turns to ash. Everyone he tries to save, suffers. Everyone he loves, hurts.

"I didn't know him," Solas says, "I am sorry. You should speak with Abelas. He can tell you everything you want to know."

She grabs his arm. She stops him.

"I'm speaking to you," she says, "What are you afraid of?"

He can't. He tries to pull away---

"Solas, stop running from me," she says, "What happened wasn't your fault. Look at me. Please."

He tries. He owes her that much and more, so much more. But the sight of her makes his chest hurt. This isn't what she wanted. It was forced on her. His body did this. Falon'Din used him to hurt her.

This isn't the way it was supposed to be.

When he smiles, his face feels tight. His throat hurts. 

"I'm not running," he says, "I'm here. Whatever you need, you have only to ask." But she sees through him. He is hurting her again. He is making it worse.

He can do better. He can give her what she needs. He will. Just a few more months. Just a little longer. It will be alright in the end.

"I don't understand," she says, "I thought things were getting better. You seemed happier."

"I am happy," he says, "Everything is fine. Ask your questions. I will try to answer. Please, vhenan. This is not easy for me either."

When he kisses her cheek she relaxes. When he touches her face, when he brushes the hair back out of her eyes, she leans against him. He feels the warmth of her breath and he wants nothing more than to hold her and forget. 

"Nothing makes sense," she says. Her voice breaks. 

"I know, vhenan," he says, "I know." He won't be able to hold on if she starts to cry. It will be too much. He isn't strong anymore. Maybe he never was.

But he holds her as tight as he dares. He shuts his eyes when he feels her start to shake, when he feels the hot, wet of her tears on his shirt. She has cried so much because of him. She should never have to again.

 

Her dreams are terrible but they are worse as the days go by. There is an emptiness, a nothingness. There are people without faces---reaching for her, calling for her, begging her to save them. But she can't. She doesn't even know who they are.

Some are bolder than the others. They touch her, try to hold on, and when she tries to scream, she can't make a sound. Sometimes it feels so real. Sometimes she thinks it isn't just a dream.

Sometimes she thinks she feels something. She could almost believe they are spirits instead of Fade conjurations. And that terrifies her. They can't be real. She doesn't want them to be real.

When she wakes, she sees Solas, asleep in a chair. A stack of papers have fallen out of his hands and onto the floor. They are scattered around him.

And Neria has crawled out of bed somehow. She is sitting at the center of the mess. She has torn some of the pages. She has chewed on others. But not all of them are ruined.

She takes a second to catch her breath. The dream is still heavy in her mind. She hurts and she doesn't know why. She thinks---no, she knows the skin around her eyes is gritty. It feels tight. It feels like she has been crying.

Neria is quite pleased with her accomplishment. She smiles to herself. She pushes the papers around. She looks at them and she chatters.

They are drawings, Ellana realizes, when she gets a better look. Sketches of Neria and Mahanon. Sketches of her. Sketches of people she doesn't recognize and Abelas. Beautiful pictures. Soft, flowing lines, lazy strokes. She doesn't know why it surprises her. She doesn't know why she expects to see heavy, ugly lines. This is Solas' style. It couldn't be anything else.

And there are so many. She is absolutely not bending over to try to pick them all up. She aches just thinking about it.

"Da'len, what are you doing?" she asks, "How did you get out of bed?" 

Neria looks up, her face guarded. She picks another page off the ground and starts to put it in her mouth. She stares at Ellana, daring her to stop her.

Well. Alright then.

"No, love, that's not for eating," she says. She pries it out of Neria's hands and then picks her up. Immediately, she regrets it. Her back protests. It hurts. She feels the baby shift and she is uncomfortable.

Neria lets out a shriek. She grabs for the paper. She cries and Solas wakes, finally. His eyes are bloodshot. He looks exhausted.

He looks like he doesn't really know where he is.

"Someone got her hands on your drawings," she says, "I'm sorry, vhenan. It looks like some of them are ruined."

Solas looks confused until he realizes his papers are scattered on the floor. He sees Neria, still wailing, still angry she can't have the drawings. He sighs. He stands.

Ellana is surprised when he smiles.

"It is my fault," he says, "I should have put everything away."

Ellana rocks Neria back and forth and eventually she stops. Neria looks at Solas. She stares. Usually she turns away and makes it clear she isn't interested in dealing with him. But today is different.

"I'm impressed you climbed out of bed all by yourself," Solas says.

After a moment, Neria returns his smile. It is hesitant and small but she is warming to him. It's just a matter of time, Ellana thinks.

"How are you this morning?" Solas asks.

She is tired of hearing that question. Truly. But she bites down her irritation. He is trying to help her. There is no need to snap at him.

"I'm fine," she says, "Could you check on Mahanon? It's too quiet."

She can't read his expression when he looks at her, when he tears his gaze away from Neria. She gets a flicker of wrongness again. Her chest is too tight. She is almost...afraid. But that can't be right.

"Of course," he says. A strange look crosses his face. She gets the feeling he's thinking about something, fighting with some impulse. And she is right.

He leans in quick. He kisses Ellana's cheek and then Neria is hitting at him, pushing him away.

"No," Neria says. She swipes at him again.

"It's alright, Neria, I don't mind," Ellana says.

"No," Neria says again, louder this time. The look she gives Solas is withering, but he simply nods his head and apologizes.

He goes into the next room to check on Mahanon and Ellana realizes her hands are shaking. She doesn't know why. She has been trying to get him to soften for weeks now, months, and now that he is, she is afraid. 

Solas would never hurt her. She has no reason to fear him. He isn't Falon'Din, and she can't remember any of it anyway. She should be fine.

Why isn't she fine?

 

He doesn't realize his heart is racing until he turns away. He should not have done that. He should not have kissed her cheek. He should be putting distance between them, not blurring the lines. 

Mahanon is not asleep. He is talking to a stuffed, toy nug in his crib. He pokes one of its eyes and stuffs one of its ears in his mouth. He makes a happy sound.

Solas doesn't know how it could be appetizing. It's cloth. It should taste terrible.

When Mahanon sees him, he smiles. He holds his hands up and waits for Solas to pick him up. And when Solas sits him on his hip, he makes a grab for his collar. He pulls at it. He twists it, tries to get it in his mouth, but he stops. 

He sees the dark lines Falon'Din left on his body, the edges of the tattoo marking this body as his. He left so many reminders for Solas. Every time he looks in the mirror he remembers.

Mahanon is fascinated by the lines. He asks another of his mysterious questions. He tries to pull it away from his skin, and when he can't, his face wrinkles up in concentration. He has seen vallaslin before, but for some reason, this is baffling to him.

Eventually Solas will remove them, when he has the time and the resources, but it will take some doing. It may cease to matter. Time will tell.

He changes Mahanon and cleans him up and he thinks it is a strange thing to be caring for a child. He never thought he would. 

"Did you know your sister can climb out of bed?" Solas asks.

"No," Mahanon says, but Solas doesn't think he is really answering him. It is more that he likes the sound of it. He likes the surprised look people get when they hear him.

Solas can't stop marveling at how very small the twins are, how perfect. They are so like Ellana. They have her fire, her intelligence, and he is glad. He doesn't want them to take after him. He doesn't want to see himself when he looks at them.

"Let's get you something to eat," he says. His voice is steadier than he expects. It helps that Mahanon is so calm, so unafraid. And that is a curious thing. He is outgoing and extroverted. He takes to new people so quickly. He doesn't get that from Solas. He doesn't get it from Ellana either. 

Mahanon goes back to picking at Solas' skin. But when he sees Ellana, he lights up. He reaches for her but he is out of luck. She is already carrying Neria and she doesn't need to carry both of them. Solas brings Mahanon close enough for Ellana to kiss his cheek and get him laughing. But that is all.

"Good morning to you too, da'len," she says, "Are you hungry? Shall we get some breakfast?"

Much to Neria's irritation, Ellana kisses him. She catches him off guard and presses her lips to his and he thinks he is going to melt. It is all he can do to keep from following her when she breaks for breath. He doesn't deserve this, but he wants more. He wants her. Always. 

But the smile she gives him is hesitant, it is uncertain. He thinks she's afraid again. She is different this morning and he doesn't know why.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asks.

"You worry too much," she says, "I just didn't sleep well." She waves him away when he presses for more. Bad dreams, he thinks. Perhaps Cole hasn't handled things as thoroughly as he thinks he has. Perhaps that's why she seems so out of sorts today.

When Solas looks at her, he wants to pretend he can have this, that he can stay. It is what he wants. It is what he has always wanted. To stay. To be here with her. To not be alone.


	57. Bound: This Small Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The new baby comes.

His plans change when the baby comes early. 

Ellana bleeds too much. Even with all his power, he almost loses her. She almost dies.

He hadn't thought he could hurt any more than he did, but he does. Seeing her like that, like this, it makes his chest constrict, his lungs ache. She can't die. She can't. It is odd, but during the worst of it, he can almost hear Cassandra's voice. He thinks of her and what she would have done if she were alive and Ellana died from this.

He thinks of Dorian too. He thinks of Fenris. He thinks of Sera and everyone else she has lost because of him. She can't even remember. She can't miss them. 

Ellana sleeps. She stays awake just long enough to see the newborn, to make certain she is alright. She counts her toes and fingers, holds her for a moment, and drifts off. She is drained. The hours were not kind to her. 

The baby is so very small. He is afraid to hold her, but when he does, he is afraid to let go of her. He is so confused.

Niala brings Mahanon and Neria when Ellana wakes. They stare at the infant. Neria touches the blanket and looks perplexed. Mahanon talks, not necessarily to anyone or about anything. He fills the silence until Neria decides she has had enough of the new baby.

She tries to burrow into Ellana. She tries to dislodge the baby from her arms. She screams when she fails. Ellana looks like she's going to cry. She is overwhelmed.

“None of that, love,” she says, “It's alright, There's enough room for both of you.”

Mahanon stares at Neria like he can't decide if he should cry too. He pulls on Solas shirt. He twists until Solas puts him down. Then, he sits on his foot.

Ellana passes the baby to Niala. Neria's quiets some, but she hiccups. She sniffles. She whimpers. She glares daggers at Solas when he offers to take her.

After a while, Niala gives the baby back---she shifts Neria over, she tries to, and she succeeds. Neria is not pleased, but she allows it. And Niala acts like she's getting ready to go back to her room. Solas has a sick feeling in his stomach when he realizes that's what she's doing. She's leaving without the children. 

Ellana doesn't look alarmed and Mahanon is too busy digging his fingers into the space between the floor boards.

“I can help with bedtime later, if you need me,” she says when she sees Solas' face. 

All he can think about is how unprepared he is. He is not the help Ellana needs right now. He should be the one to leave.

Mahanon look up at him and grins.

But Solas doesn't want to leave. He wants to stay. He wants to be someone else. He wants to be what she needs. Things should have been so different.

“I think we'll be fine,” Ellana says, “Thank you for watching them for us.”

“We had fun, didn't we?” Niala asks.

“No,” Mahanon says, grinning. When Niala laughs, he laughs. It has become his favorite word. Solas isn't sure he even cares what it means. He merely likes the sound of it. He likes the reaction it gets. 

Mahanon hunches over. He stares intently at the floor.

“What are you doing, da'len?” Ellana asks.

He gets his fist around something small. He starts to put it in his mouth.

“Solas---”

Ellana's voice rises, but he is already scooping Mahanon up. Mahanon protests. Loudly. But Solas is unmoved. He is too worried. Whatever the child found on the floor, it can't be food. It could hurt him. He could choke. It could make him sick.

Solas feels a little sick himself.

“We don't eat things we find on the floor,” Solas says, “What did you find?”

He doesn't know why it works, but Mahanon stops and very reluctantly opens his palm. Of course. He would find something horrible, Solas thinks. There is a crushed spider in his hand. Harmless, but long legged and big enough to leave a mess.

Ellana gags when she sees. Solas wipes the boy's hands. He washes them with soap and water. And Mahanon gets madder than he's ever seen him. 

“That is disgusting, da'len,” Ellana says, but clearly, Mahanon disagrees.

“We most certainly don't eat spiders,” Solas says, “If you're hungry, we can get you something to eat. Would you like that?” His voice cracks. He doesn't look at Ellana because he doesn't want her to know. He doesn't want to see the look on her face.

Mahanon cries as if his heart has been broken. Over a spider. Over not being allowed to eat that spider. He doesn't understand.

And Solas is undone. He feels himself waver and that is absurd. He is almost broken by a small child. Or rather, three small children. Mahanon, Neria, and---the youngest still needs a name. His task. His impossible task. 

How does one choose a name for someone so innocent? How could he even hope to try?

"We do not eat spiders," he repeats, more for himself than anyone. And he is so very tired. 

 

Ellana dreams about the twins' birth. At least, she thinks that's what it is, but she isn't sure. It is different than she remembers it. Cole's doing. He meant it as a kindness.

She is afraid in the dream. She is angry. She is desperate to get away.

The man holding her is Solas, but he isn't. It's someone else looking at her through his eyes. A stranger. A monster.

She doesn't remember she's safe until she wakes. She sees Neria and Mahanon and the new baby---they still haven't decided on a name. She had offered to let Solas, but he is taking his time. He seems so hesitant with her, with all of them.

She understands why now. It hurts but she understands. She doesn't want to do this alone, but she feels it. There is a distance between them. He never wanted this. 

And she hadn't either. She knows it's true, but she wishes Cole had left more of her memories intact. This is far too much missing. She is confused so often. 

Most days she barely recognizes Solas. He has changed. 

The new baby is so very small, and she is so very beautiful.Ellana watches Solas pick her up from her crib. His movements are careful but awkward. His gaze is soft but also so very sad. He looks at her like he's memorizing every detail, like if he dares to look away she'll vanish.

Neria is still asleep, but Mahanon is up and getting into everything again. Ellana sees him climbing onto the table, reaching for Solas' charcoal and drawing paper.

“Mahanon, get down from there,” she says. She is out of bed, moving faster than she should. She catches him as he drags the damned thing across a half finished sketch of Neria.

Solas jolts and turns, his eyes going wide when he sees him. 

Mahanon tries to bite her when she takes the charcoal out of his hands. He squirms when she scoops him up. And Solas makes a horrified sound. It startles the baby. She starts to cry.

“You can't carry him, yet---”

“I am not going to watching him crack his head open when he falls,” she says, “I'm fine, truly.”

Mahanon is squirming too much. She puts him down and he is off running. He is going to give her a heart attack. He is not steady enough to run like that and there are too many things that could trip him, hurt him.

“You should be in bed,” Solas says, “You almost died. You're still recovering.”

He gives her the baby and tries to usher her back to the bed. She should listen to him. She feels terrible. But she is not in the mood for his strange brand of fussing. He has already healed the worst of the damage. She is fine.

She rocks the baby back and forth, slow and even. After a while, she calms. 

“Tell Papae, your Mamae has been through this once before, with twins,” she tells her daughter, “Mamae is well enough to get out of bed.”

It is almost worth it to see the look of irritation on Solas' face. He is himself for a moment. There is none of that unsettling, calm guilt she has grown so accustomed to seeing. She would rather have his anger. She would rather have anything else.

“Ellana, please,” he says.

“Mahanon, what are you doing?” she asks, ignoring Solas. Mahanon has gone quiet and that is never a good thing. She sees him squatting down behind a chair. She can't tell what he's doing, but she has a bad feeling about it.

Solas sighs and it is such a heavy sound.

“Mahanon,” she says.

She takes one step before she hears the very distinct sound of paper tearing. She doesn't want to know which book he has found. They don't have many here, but the few they have are well loved.

Solas gets to him first. He takes the book. He manages to pry most of the torn page from his grasp but not before Mahanon starts to wail. It isn't quiet sobbing. It isn't true crying. It's more like screaming. High pitched. Angry.

This is the beginning of a tantrum. It is only going to get worse.

The baby starts to cry again. Neria wakes---she adds her voice to Mahanon's. Two toddlers screaming. They are worse than angry dragonlings. They are probably more dangerous.

The book Mahanon damaged is Sword and Shields. It is one she enjoys. One of the few she has here. Perhaps she should cry too. Surely that will make it all better.

“I think it's time for breakfast,” she says, but she is overwhelmed. She doesn't know how they're going to manage.

“I'll bring something up from the kitchen,” Solas says. But he is smart enough to hesitate. If he dares to leave her alone with them like this, she will gut him. 

In the end, he stays. There is a knock on the door---there is food waiting on a tray and no sign of the person who left it. She doesn't doubt everyone can hear the screaming, the crying, everything. 

Food does not appease Mahanon. It only quiets Neria momentarily.

“We need to decide on a name,” Ellana says when Mahanon finally cries himself out, “Have you thought of anything?”

He looks pained.

“I have tried,” he says, “I'm sorry. You should name her. Anything you like will be beautiful.” But that is not what she wants. They have already talked about this. He has already agreed. She has gone through her names. Nothing fits.

_Anything you like will be beautiful._ Of course. He always says this. _Whatever you want. Whatever pleases you. Whatever makes you happy._ It is beyond frustrating. She wants--no, she needs him to have an opinion about something, about this. She can't make every decision herself. She is drained. She is exhausted. Just once she wants him to decide. Just this once. 

Besides, it's just a name. Why is it so difficult? This is just a baby. It isn't this complicated.

"Please, Solas," she says. 

But she can't finish it. She can't force him. For whatever reason, naming his daughter makes him uncomfortable. He never really wanted any of this. His control was stolen, just as hers was. His body was used against his will. Just as hers was. But he remembers it. He remembers all of it.

She hates that she feels so alone. 

 

On a whim, Solas sits Mahanon down with a piece of paper. He enchants a stick of charcoal before he gives it to the boy. It will not leave a mark on anything but paper and it is safe if Mahanon tries to put it in his mouth. It won't break. And there is a minor compulsion. If he does try to eat it, he will be repulsed. He won't want try it again.

The spell is easier than Solas remembers, but then again, he is more powerful than he was the last time he cast it.

Finally, Mahanon is delighted. He scribbles. He makes big loops and disjointed lines. He holds a hand out expectantly when he's done---as if to ask for more. So, Solas gives him more paper. If it will keep him happy and occupied, he will give him all of it. He will go to the next settlement for more, even if the next settlement is all the way across the sea.

Neria is another matter entirely. She will not be swayed. She will not be moved from Ellana's side, or rather, her feet because Ellana has grown tired of trying to feed the baby and keep Neria from pushing her away. The child is not pleased about sharing Ellana with the new baby. The new baby who still doesn't have an appropriate name. They can not call her Little One forever.

She should be named for one of the people Ellana cares about, he thinks, someone, anyone. Cassandra or Josephine. Leliana. Sera. The list is far too long. His fault again. Always his fault. If Ellana could remember, she would understand. She would ask him to leave. She would demand it.

If only.

If Cole would only talk to him, if he would appear, they could sort this mess out together. They could fix it. Help her. 

Her friends deserved to be remembered and mourned. Loved. 

Mahanon stuffs the end of the stick of charcoal into his mouth. He makes a disgusted face and spits it out.

“Yes, that's why we don't eat our drawing tools,” Solas says. And he thinks he's waiting too long. They longer he stays, the more he lets himself be apart of this, the harder it will be to leave. He doesn't want to hurt Ellana or the children, but it seems, no matter what he chooses to do, that is exactly what will happen. 

He catches Neria watching Mahanon, her expression curious. When she looks at Solas, he doesn't see the suspicion or hostility he has grown to expect. Cassandra would like her. She would say the girl has good sense and she would be right. He destroyed the world. He is terrible. He does not deserve a second chance.

“Would you like to draw too, da'len?” Solas asks, somehow he swallows the lump in his throat. He tries to stay calm, to keep his hands from shaking. 

Neria is quiet for a long moment, but then, she nods. Some of the suspicion returns, but she doesn't cling to Ellana. She doesn't try to burrow into her or climb onto her lap. She stays on the floor and leans against Ellana's legs.

It is a simple enough thing to enchant another piece of charcoal. Neria hesitates when he hands it to her, when he places a small stack of paper in front of her. She drags it across the surface once, very slowly. Her brow furrows with concentration.

Then, all at once, she smiles.

Her drawings are just as incomprehensible as Mahanon's. But her lines are more deliberate. Mahanon's are heavier and wilder. They are very different children.

The look on Ellana's face is one of relief. She slumps back in her chair. She shuts her eyes for a moment. She sighs.

They will have peace until they run out of paper, it seems.

“Do you need anything?” he asks. 

She shakes her head.

“I'm fine,” she says, “Have you thought any more about names?”

The question makes his stomach lurch. No. He hasn't. He thought it had been settled. She should choose. The child won't be pleased with a name given to her by a monster. 

“I can't,” he says, “Please, Ellana, don't ask me again.” He is a coward. Afraid of something so innocent. Everything he touches crumbles. Everything he does turns out wrong. He can't make the wrong choice again. It is just a name but it is more. So much more.

She frowns but turns her attention back to the little one. He knows that look. He knows what it means. She has always been so stubborn. She isn't going to let this go. He will have to give in. He will have to think of something.

If she had her memories, what would she have chosen? Dalish customs have often baffled him. He can't hope to guess what names would have been suitable. 

“I've already been through everything, nothing feels right,” she says, “Isn't there anything you like?” He hears a tremor in her voice. It surprises him. She sounds like she's close to tears. He doesn't want her to cry. He doesn't want it to be because of him.

“I don't know,” he says.

“Perhaps,” he says. Don't cry, he thinks, please.

Her expression smooths a bit. Some of the frustration eases.

“A perhaps is better than a no,” she says, “Tell me. If it helps you, I'll make the final decision. You're just offering helpful suggestions.”

He sighs. What can he say? She isn't going to say no. Anything he says will be something she'll pretend to like, even if she doesn't. She isn't oblivious. She can tell something's wrong. She may even suspect what he's planning. She knows him. After years of hunting him, fighting him, even if she can't remember all of it, a part of her still knows.

He doesn't know any of her Dalish friends and family, not personally. But he knows Cassandra and Sera. He knows the Inquisition. He knows the people she came to love.

She stares at him expectantly. The baby squeaks, her tiny hand curling in on itself. She makes a face. She squirms.

He watches her, transfixed, and suddenly, he knows.

“Cassandra,” he says.

“A human name,” she says, and she sounds just the slightest bit skeptical.

“A friend,” he says, “One of your dearest.”

And she is surprised. Her face softens.

“Oh,” she says.

He takes a breath. Finally. He hadn't realized he wasn't breathing properly. Everything hurts. It hurts so much.

But Ellana smiles.

“Cassandra,” she says, “What do you think little one? Would you like that to be your name?”

The baby doesn't answer, but Solas knows, it has been decided. She has a name now. Cassandra. Ellana kisses her hand.

Solas feels his heart twist. She will be alright. They will all be alright. He tries to memorize the moment. He tries to capture every detail. He tries to hold onto it. For later. For when---

Mahanon bites him. Hard. Of course he does. Then, he holds up the charcoal and one of his pictures. 

“Papae,” he says, “Dis.”

“We don't bite when we want attention, da'len,” Ellana says, “We use our words.”

“No,” Mahanon says. 

“Yes,” she says.

Solas takes the picture. He can't even begin to guess what its supposed to be. But Mahanon grins. He is pleased. Proud. 

“Is this for me?” Solas asks.

“You,” Mahanon says. He shuts his eyes and makes that strange hissing noise he's so fond of. It is always a little unsettling.

The drawing is perfect. It is beautiful.


	58. After Falon'Din: Broken Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She has bad days and good days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to get back into writing, but it's been a rough month. Depression stuff.
> 
> Trigger warning for Falon'Din memories.

It is hard sometimes. A thought will hit her, stop her in her tracks, remind her. And when it does, there's nothing she can do but stand there, stiff as a board, and wait for the moment to pass.

She is always so cold when it does. Her heart races. She can't breathe. Everything hurts.

She sees his face, the cruel tilt of his lips, that smile that was never truly a smile. Always. Every time. She would give anything to just forget.

Today, she is running her fingers along the books on her bookshelf. She is looking for something she hasn't read a dozen times. But when she comes to one of the few that belonged to Cassandra, it hits her. She snaps back to another time, another place, and she is afraid. 

She feels hands on her hips, for just a moment, and hot breath on her neck, lips pressing against her skin. It isn't real. It isn't. But she can't move. She can't stop it.

Varric knocks over a glass. It shatters on the floor and he breaks into tears. It is what she needs. She comes back to herself. She scoops him up before he can cut himself and tells him everything is going to be fine. It's just a glass. 

She kisses his cheek but he will not be consoled. _I didn't mean to. I wanted to help. I can't do anything._ She pieces it together in between sobs. 

“You're not the only one to break a glass, da'len,” she says, “I've lost count of how many I've dropped.” Even if this glass was special. Instead of clay, it was made with actual colored glass. Antivan. A gift from Zevran. Varric knows he isn't supposed to touch it.

But she can't get upset over a thing. It is just a glass. 

His sobs taper off into hiccups. Still, he doesn't smile and she doubts hers is very convincing. She doesn't feel like smiling right now. She is cold. Falon'din's voice is still echoing in her mind.

_"I will not let you go. I will never let you go."_

But he is dead. He can't hurt her. She knows.

There is broken glass everywhere. She will have to clean it up before she does anything else. Hopefully before Neria and Mahanon returns. With her luck, they'll cut their feet before she can stop them, before they realize the kitchen is a disaster. 

“Go play, da'len,” she says, “It's alright.” And it is alright. Everything is fine. She is fine.

Varric settles on the floor with his blocks, but he doesn't settle quietly. He sniffs and wipes his nose on the back of his sleeve. He mumbles something unintelligible and rubs his eyes. 

She does her best to sweep away the broken glass. It is beyond repair, the pieces too small to try to fit back into place. With a sigh, she drops the pile into the trash bin. 

She feels like the glass sometimes. She feels like there are too many small pieces she can't fit back into place. She will never be whole. Never be what she once was. Sometimes, she can barely remember Inquisitor Lavellan. 

Sometimes.

Fenris doesn't return with the twins until dinner. He unpacks the supplies while Neria throws her arms around Ellana's waist and Mahanon tries to steal cookies from the jar. She swats his hand and shoos him away. 

“We got candy,” Neria says. She grins, her arms still too tight around Ellana's waist.

“Oh you did?” she asks, “And I'm sure you haven't had any yet because that would spoil your dinner.”

She looks at Fenris and his cheeks flush. Guilt is etched across his face. 

“They only had one piece,” he says. He sounds gruff but she relaxes. One piece is fine. 

Neria lets go and chases after Mahanon. Ellana is glad they're back. It's easier when they're here. The twins are a better distraction than Varric. He tries to be so perfect but they delight in chaos. 

"Slow down," she calls after them.

Fenris kisses her cheek as he passes. He puts the flour away and shoves a small bag behind it on the top shelf. The candy, she thinks. She will have to investigate later. For reasons.

Varric's eyes are still red from crying. He tugs on Fenris' sleeve and asks to be picked up. When he does, Varric tries to burrow into him. He whispers something in Fenris' ear. He sniffles.

“Why would I be angry?” Fenris asks, “It was just a glass. Sometimes they break.” He gives him a hug and tries to put him down, but Varric doesn't want to let go. He is so sure it's the end of the world. Over a glass.

“How was it?” she asks.

He smiles but he looks pained. She can imagine why. They don't usually take the twins to town together. And certainly not alone. She still hasn't recovered from the sweet roll incident. 

“Exhausting,” he says.

“So the candy was a bribe,” she says.

“Most definitely,” he says. There are lines at the corners of his eyes when he smiles. It makes her stomach flutter. Even now, even after all these years. 

He leans in and he is going to kiss her. Or maybe she's going to kiss him. She isn't sure. But then, Varric squeaks. He hunches a little more and it is too much of a stretch to reach Fenris' lips. There will be no kissing on Varric's watch.

Fenris looks at him. The corner of his mouth quirks up.

"You are in a mood," he says.

Varric just sort of grunts. His expression is stormy. If she didn't know better she'd think he was angry and not just upset.

“Next time you can come along with us,” Fenris says, “Would you like that?”

Varric looks at him, doubtful. Clearly, that's what's bothering him. Being left behind while Neria and Mahanon went with Papa---staying home with Mamae was not fair. He's not a baby.

Well then.

She tries not to let it sting, but it is a hard battle. She feels fragile. She feels like there are tiny cracks running just under her skin. Just a little more pressure and she'll break.

Fenris makes a weird growling sound and kisses Varric's cheek. He squirms and his mouth twists into an awkward frown. No, he will not be swayed. He will not. But then, he laughs. He sort of giggle-snorts and claps his hand over his mouth. He looks mortified. Fenris puts him down and he runs to his room. Why are her children always running? There is only one speed---too fast.

She thinks Varric will feel better after dinner. They'll sit and read stories and he'll forget. He'll be his sweet self again, her laughing, smiling little boy. No more tears.

If only it was that simple, she thinks, and she pretends it is. She always does.

"What's wrong?" Fenris asks. It takes a moment to shift her thoughts. His arms settle around her, pulling her close. She shuts her eyes, breathes.

"Nothing," she says.

"Ellana," he says. She knows what he means. Just the way he says her name tells her everything. He knows her. He can tell when something's wrong. He can hear when she's lying.

"Nothing new. It's the same thing it always is," she says, "I don't want talk about it." Because she just can't. She is raw and the air feels too thin.

"We don't have to talk," he says. He touches her face, his fingers tracing a path along her cheek. 

He is so beautiful, she thinks. And he loves her. Despite everything. He stayed and he loves her and she is far too lucky. The knot in her chest finally starts to loosen. Some of her tension ebbs. She feels better. But the feeling of peace doesn't last. Of course it doesn't.

She hears Mahanon shouting over Varric. Something about touching his things. Something about staying out of his room. His toys are in the wrong place. It's the beginning of a fight. It's just a matter of time before the tears start.

"Kiss me before the da'len come back," she says. Please, she thinks. 

He does. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Not Enough Mahariel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7081276) by [TeaRexxy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaRexxy/pseuds/TeaRexxy)




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